GIFT   OF 

THOMAS  RUTHERFORD  BACON 
MEMORIAL  LIBRARY 


•- 


A  BOX  OF  MONKEYS 


AND  OTHER 


BY 

GRACE  LIVINGSTON  FURNISS 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER   &    BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN   SQUARE 
1891 


Copyright,  1891,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rigfilt  reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
A   BOX  OF   MONKEYS 3 

THE    JACK   TRUST 65 

THE   VENEERED   SAVAGE 129 

TCLU  .    163 


272561 


A  BOX  OF  MONKEYS. 


CHARACTERS. 

EDWARD  RALSTON..  .A  promising  young  American,  half 
owner  of  the  Sierra  Gold- Mine. 

CHAUNCEY  OGLKTHORPE His  partner,  second  son  of 

Lord  Doncaster. 

MRS.  ONDEGO-JHONES An  admirer  of  rank. 

SIERRA-BENGALINE Her  niece,  a  prairie  rose. 

LADY  GUINETERE  LLANDPOOHE.  .  .An  English  primrose, 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Pay  naught. 
Costumes — Modern  and  appropriate. 


PROPERTIES. 

IST  ACT. 

Letter  for  Mrs.  Ondego-Jhones.  Writing  materials. 
Chewing-gum  for  Sierra.  Two  sofa  pillows.  Paper  of 
"  light  society  talk."  Bag  and  umbrella  for  Guinevere. 
Letter  for  Chauncey.  Parcel  for  Mrs.  Qndego-Jhones, 
Cigarettes  and  matches.  Newspaper  for  Chauncey. 

2D  ACT. 

Newspapers  on  table.  Afghan  on  sofa.  Pack  of 
cards.  Fan.  Properties  for  charade.  Letter  for  Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones. 

The  charade  may  be  elaborated,  or  given  simply  as 
written.  But  it  should  be  kept  within  the  limitations 
of  an  impromptu  affair  given  in  a  private  house,  with 
properties  and  costumes  hastily  collected. 


A  BOX   OF  MONKEYS. 


ACT  I. 

AFTERNOON. 

SCENE.  —  Drawing-room  of  MRS.  ONDEGO- 
JHONES'S  residence,  900  Fifth  Avenue.  Pi 
ano  right.  Sofa  left.  Table,  with  writing 
materials,  right  centre.  Entrances — centre, 
right,  left.  Window  left  of  centre  entrance. 
Portieres,  pictures,  chairs,  etc.,  in  handsome 
modern  style. 

Curtain  rises  on  MRS.  ONDEGO-JHONES  at  ta 
ble,  reading  letter.  SIERRA  at  piano,  play 
ing. 

MRS.  ONDEGO-JHONES  (laying  down  letter). 
Very  gratifying  !  Very  kind  of  her  ladyship. 
Sierra  !  Sierra  !  (Turns  to  SIERRA  ;  gets  up; 
shouts  in  her  ear.)  Sierra  ! 


4  A    liOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

SIERRA  (jumping  up).  Yes,  aunt.  I  think 
so  too. 

MRS.  0.  You  are  strangely  absorbed,  miss. 
Pray,  of  what  were  you  thinking? 

SIERRA  (innocently}.  Ted — er — I  mean — 

MRS.  O.  Is  Ted  a  musical  term  ? 

SIERRA.  I  said  ped,  aunt.  Short  for  pedal, 
you  know. 

MRS.  0.  (eying  her  severely}.  You  are  sure  ? 

SIERRA.  Quite  sure.  (Aside.)  That's  four 
fibs  since  breakfast.  Oh,  me  ! 

MRS.  O.  Very  good.  Listen  to  this.  First 
sit  down.  Never  stand  in  that  awkward  style 
again.  When  will  you  learn  repose?  (Sits 
by  table.) 

SIERRA.  Can't  say,  aunt.  Drive  on.  (Sits 
sideways  on  her  chair,  propping  her  chin  on  her 
hands.) 

MRS.  O.  Drive  on  !  But  what  can  one  ex 
pect  from  a  girl  brought  up  by  a  man  on  a 
ranch  ?  However,  listen,  Sierra.  I  have  here 
a  most  gratifying  letter  from  the  Countess  of 
Pay  naught.  Her  ladyship  accepts,  in  the  most 
friendly  style,  my  offer  of  hospitality,  and  pro 
poses  to  leave  her  daughter,  Lady  Guinevere, 
in  my  care,  while  she  continues  her  tour  west- 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  5 

ward.  Ah  !  little  did  I  think  when  I  made  my 
offer  on  the  steamer  that  her  ladyship  would 
confide  her  daughter  to  me  for  the  winter. 
Quite  an  honor,  isn't  it,  Sierra  ? 

SIERRA.  Honor !  I  think  it's  beastly  cheeky ! 
You  told  me  yourself  that  her  ladyship 
snubbed  you  persistently  from  Liverpool  to 
New  York,  and  called  you  that  Ondego-Jhones 
person. 

MRS.  0.  Her  ladyship's  manner  on  the 
steamer,  Sierra,  was  due  to  a  contest  between 
a  plebeian  ailment  and  an  aristocratic  diges 
tive  apparatus.  In  short,  her  ladyship  was 
sea-sick.  No  one  dreams  of  making  sea-sick 
people  accountable  for  anything  they  say. 

SIERRA.  I  don't  care !  I  would  not.  have 
her  daughter. 

MRS.  O.  (absently}.  How  well  it  will  sound  ! 
Among  other  distinguished  visitors  were  Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones  and  her  guest,  Lady  Guinevere 
Llandpoore.  Delightful !  I  rather  think  that 
will  take  down  Mrs.  Newcome,  who  is  insuffer 
able  on  the  strength  of  her  puny  little  Italian 
count.  The  idea  of  my  entertaining  members 
of  the  English  aristocracy  will  simply  annihi 
late  her. 


6  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

(SIERRA  becomes  absorbed  in  seeing  how  far 
she  can  stretch  her  chewing-gum.) 

MRS.  0.  Lady  Guinevere  arrives  to-day  ;  she 
can  assist  at  Sierra's  debut  to-morrow.  I  will 
write  the  notices  for  the  society  notes.  ( Writes.) 

"  Mrs.  Ondego-Jhones  introduced  her  fasci 
nating  niece,  Miss  Sierra  Bengaline,  at  a  Ka/ee- 
clash  yesterday  afternoon.  This  German  in 
novation  proved  a  pleasant  relief  from  the 
monotonous  'teas '  in  vogue."  (Aside.)  That's 
a  slap  at  Mrs.  Newcome's  weak  tea.  ( Writes.) 
"  Lady  Guinevere  Llandpoore,  only  daughter 
of  the  Earl  of  Paynaught,  assisted  in  receiv 
ing.  Miss  Bengaline,  who  was  brought  up  in 
the  distant  West,  brings  the  spicy  atmosphere 
of  her  native  prairies  with  her."  I  put  that 
in,  Sierra,  to  account  for  any  atrocious  thing 
you  may  see  fit  to  do. 

SIERRA.  Good  idea. 

MRS.  O.  (writes).  "  Miss  Bengaline  was  the 
recipient  of  numerous  bouquets" — (aside)  I 
shall  order  nine  this  morning — "  and  bids  fair 
to  be  the  belle  of  the  season."  (Lays  down 
pen.)  There,  that  will  do,  when  the  gowns  are 
described  and  the  names  added.  Now  I  must 


A    BOX    OF   MONKEYS.  7 

fly  to  the  intelligence-office,  and  secure  at  least 
three  maids  before  lunch.  Sierra,  what  do  I 
see  ?  Remove  that  vile  stuff  from  your  mouth, 
and  sit  up. 

SIERRA.  Yes,  aunt.  (Sticks  the  wad  of  gum 
on  back  of  chair ;  sits  up  primly.) 

MRS.  0.  Pay  attention !  The  butler  Mrs. 
Campbell  recommended  is  to  come  this  morn 
ing.  You  will  have  to  open  the  door  and  in 
terview  him.  It  looks  dreadfully,  but  can't  be 
helped,  since  cook  is  the  only  servant  who 
didn't  "  strike  "  yesterday.  Well,  ask  this  man 
the  usual  questions,  and,  if  he  is  at  all  pre 
sentable,  engage  him.  (Bell  rings.)  Gracious  ! 
Is  it  possible  Lady  Guinevere  has  arrived  ? 
Run  to  the  window  and  see. 

SIERRA  (runs  to  the  window ;  looks  out ; 
turns  to  audience).  It's  Ted,  and  aunt  not  gone. 
I'll  beckon  him  to  go.  (  Waves  her  hands  ; 
shakes  her  head  violently.) 

MRS.  0.  (who  has  been  collecting  letters,  eye 
glasses,  gloves,  etc.,  turns,  and  sees  SIERRA  ges 
ticulating).  What  are  you  doing?  Think  of 
the  neighbors  !  Who  is  it  ? 

SIERRA  (hastily  drawing  curtains  and  com 
ing  down  front).  It's  no  one,  aunt. 


8  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

MRS.  O.  (severely}.  What  do  you  mean  by 
making  a — a  semaphore  of  yourself  for  no 
one? 

SIERRA.  I  meant  no  one  in  society,  aunt. 
It  was  a — er — a  kind  of — er  tramp,  and  I 
waved  my  hands  to  signify  displeasure,  and 
he  went  away. 

MRS.  0.  I  presume  he  thought  you  were  a 
lunatic. 

SIERRA.  Yes,  aunt.  Auntie,  if  that  English 
girl  is  coming  to-day,  don't  you  think  you 
ought  to  hurry  and  get  some  servants  ?  She 
won't  believe  your  entire  staff  left  in  a  fury ; 
she'll  think  you  never  had  any.  The  English 
are  so  supercilious,  you  know. 

MRS.  0.  Yes,  yes,  I'm  off.  Don't  forget 
about  the  butler,  Sierra.  (Starts  towards  cen 
tre  door ;  comes  back.)  And,  Sierra,  con  over 
that  little  abstract  I  made  for  you  of  light  so 
ciety  talk.  I  don't  want  a  tongue-tied  debu 
tante  on  my  hands. 

SIERRA.  What  a  nuisance  ! 

MRS.  0.  Nonsense  !  A  girl  has  to  work  for 
popularity  nowadays.  Well,  good-bye.  (Kiss 
es  her.  Exit  c.) 

SIERRA.  I  thought   she    would   never   go. 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  9 

Now  I  will  beckon  Ted  in.  (Runs  to  window  ; 
looks  out.]  Heavens !  They  nearly  ran  into 
each  other.  It's  lucky  aunt  don't  know  him  by 
sight.  She  is  glaring  out  the  window  as  the 
carriage  turns  the  corner,  and  he  is  coming 
up  the  steps.  I'll  let  him  in.  Isn't  he  a  daisy  ? 
(Exit  c. ;  returns  with  EDWARD  RALSTON  muf 
fled  in  a  large  ulster.) 

SIERRA.  Ted,  how  could  you  ring  the  bell 
when  there  was  no  red  book  in  the  window  ?  I 
had  to  tell  aunt  you  were  a  trarnp. 

TED  (laughing).  I  quite  forgot  the  red  book. 
The  fact  is —  Look  at  me,  Sierra !  ( Throws  off 
ulster.  Shows  he  is  in  evening  clothes.) 

SIERRA.  Evening  clothes  in  the  morning ! 
Oh  !  Oh,  I  see  !  Locked  out. 

TED  (indignantly).  Jove !  Locked  out ! 
Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  got  up  early,  rushed 
off  to  have  a  picture  taken  in  this  rig  to  please 
you,  and  you  reward  me  by  the  most  injurious 
suspicions.  I  wras  never  locked  out  in  iny  life. 

SIERRA.  Always  locked  in  ? 

TED.  Sierra — 

SIERRA.  There,  there,  I  won't  tease  any  more, 
Ted.  Don't  let  us  spend  our  precious  time 
in  quarrelling.  Come,  sit  down,  look  pleasant 


10  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

and  perfectly  natural,  and  you'll  see  a  little 
bird  —  that's  me  —  with  some  news.  (They 
laugh  ;  sit  on  sofa,  left.) 

TED.  Now  for  the  news,  you  little  witch. 

SIERRA.  You  remember  the  Countess  of 
Paynaught  ? 

TED.  No,  I  don't. 

SIERRA.  You  do,  Ted. 

TED.   I  do  not,  Sierra. 

SIERRA  (firmly}.  You  do,  Ted.  She's  that 
disagreeable  woman  who  called  aunt  the  On- 
dego-Jhones  person.  ' 

TED.  Oh,  I  recollect !  you  told  me  about 
her.  Well,  what  comes  next  ? 

SIERRA.  Her  daughter  comes  next.  After 
insulting  aunt  for  three  thousand  miles,  her 
ladyship  kindly  invites  her  daughter  to  spend 
the  winter  with  her — the  Ondego-Jhones  per 


son 


TED.  That's  rather  cool.  I  suppose  your 
aunt  regularly  flattened  her  out  —  on  note- 
paper.  Declined  the  honor  with  freezing  sar 
casm,  eh  ? 

SIERRA.  On  the  contrary,  she  is  delighted, 
because  the  wretched  girl  has  a  title,  and  will 
look  well  in  print.  She  will  arrive  to-day,  and 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  11 

assist  at  my  debut  to-morrow.  Ted  (jumps 
up;  seizes  sofa  pillow),  I  detest  society!  I 
feel  parboiled,  smothered  in  it.  And  I — don't 
— want — to — come — out !  (Emphasizes  each 
word  ivith  a  thump  on  the  sofa.) 

TED  (springing  up).  Great  Julius  Csesar ! 
Sierra,  I'm  not  society. 

SIERRA  (laughs ;  walks  to  table).  You ! 
You're  only  a  cowboy.  Papa  said  so.  Ted, 
shall  you  ever  forget  that  dreadful  afternoon 
when  you  rode  over  thirty  miles  to  tell  me 
you  loved  me,  and  "papa  found  us  spooning 
in  the  corral,  and  raved  around,  denouncing  and 
cutting  off,  etc.  ? 

TED  (going  to  her).  No  ;  and  I  sha'n't  for 
get  how  you  stood  up  and  defied  him,  like  a 
brick — er — angel. 

SIERRA.  Brick  angel  ? 

TED.  No,  no ;  angel. 

SIERRA.  Oh,  plain  angel ! 

TED.  No ;  like  a  fascinating  little  cherub 
with  a  good  firm  will  of  its  own.  Jove  !  how 
your  eyes  flashed  when  you  said  he  might 
send  you  East,  but  you'd  never,  never  give  up 
Ted.  (Takes  her  hand.)  Sierra,  I  often  won 
der  why  you  like  me. 


12  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

SIERRA  (coquettishly).  Why  ?  Let  me  see. 
Well,  you're  very  warm-hearted. 

TED  (edging  nearer}.  That's  so. 

SIERRA.  And  I  like  your  taste  in  —  er — 
girls,  and  the  shape  of  your  nose,  and  you 
named  your  gold-mine  after  me,  and  I'm  so 
sorry  it  will  not  pan  out.  That's  it.  It's  pity.-. 

TED  (putting  his  arm  around  her).  Pity, 
Sierra  ? 

SIERRA  (disengaging  herself,  runs  to  other 
side  of  table).  Gracious,  Ted  !  don't  put  your 
arm  around  me,  and  say  "Sierra"  in  that 
tone.  It — it  makes  me  nervous.  (Picks  up 
papers.) 

TED  (walking  up  and  down).  You  took  it 
coolly  enough  out  on  your  father's  ranch. 
Of  course  I  was  a  fool  to  expect  to  hold  you 
to  our  engagement.  I'm  only  a  poor  fellow 
with  a  gold-mine  which  won't  pan  out,  con 
found  it ! 

SIERRA.  Oh,  Ted! 

TED.  I  see  it  all.  To-morrow  your  aunt 
presents  you  to  society,  where  you  may  meet 
some  really  eligible  fellows.  I  knew  there 
was  something  wrong  when  you  didn't  kiss 
me  this  morning. 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  13 

SIERRA.  Of  course  I  didn't. 

TED.  Why  of  course  ?  (Stops  in  front  of 
her.) 

SIERRA  (mischievously).  I  wasn't  invited. 

TED  (rushing  to  her).  I'll  take  that  kiss 
with  interest,  now. 

SIERRA  (skipping  round  the  table).  No,  no  ! 
Please,  really,  Ted  !  I'm — I'm  busy.  (Dips 
pen  in  ink,  holds  it  out  theatrically.)  One 
step  nearer,  villain,  and  I  ink  your  immacu 
late  bosom.  But  (shyly)  if  you'll  give  me  a 
little  time,  I'll  surely  pay  you. 

TED.  Honor  bright? 

SIERRA.  Honor  bright !  Now  Ted,  help 
me  get  up  my  "  light  society  talk."  You 
see,  aunt  is  so  afraid  I  shall  say  something 
original  and  paralyze  her  "  set "  to-morrow, 
that  she  has  forbidden  me  to  sav  "  mustang," 
"  ranch,"  or  "  poker,"  and  prepared  a  few  well- 
bred  inanities  for  me  to  sling  at  the  effete  East. 

TED.  Is  "  sling  at  the  effete  East  "  one  of 
them?  (Takes  paper  from  SIERRA.) 

SIERRA.  Oh,  I'm  using  you  as  a  safety- 
valve  !  Now  you  go  out,  then  come  in  with 
a  hee-haw  languid  manner,  don't  you  know, 
and  I'll  receive  you  Eastern  style. 


14  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

TED.  All  right.  (Takes  out  ulster,  hat; 
goes  out  j  comes  back.)  Ready. 

SIERRA.  Wait  till  I  am  posed.  (Stiffens 
herself}'  crosses  her  hands ;  holds  her  head  on 
one  side  ;  smiles.}  Ready,  Ted. 

TED  (coming  forward  with  affectation  of  lan 
guor,  his  eyes  half  shut).  Aw  —  chawrming 
day,  Mrs.  Ondego-Jhones.  You  always  have 
chawrming  days  on  your  days.  Is  that 
cbawrrning  girl  your  niece  ?  Present  me, 
pray. 

SIERRA.  Good  !  You  don't  look  as  though 
you  knew  enough  to  come  in  out  of  the  wet. 
Ted,  I'd  no  idea  you  could  look  so  swell. 

TED.  There's  the  making  of  a  fine  idiot  in 
mesilf,  miss.  Proceed. 

SIERRA.  Now  I'm  to  look  at  you  compos 
edly,  but  not  boldly,  and  say,  archly,  "  May  I 
give  you  some  tea,  Mr.  Emtehed?" 

TED  (looking  at  paper).  Then  we  have  a 
little  tire  of  epigrams  about  cream  and  sugar, 
and  I  ask  you  if  you  care  for  the  opera. 

SIERRA  (talking  very  fast).  I'm  devoted  to 
Wagner —  (Aside.)  What  a  fib!  —  but  care 
little  for  the  Italian  school.  However,  every 
thing  is  so  new  to  me — Oh,  Ted,  let's  drop  it ! 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  15 

TED.  I'm  agreeable. 

SIERRA.  And,  Ted,  I'm  afraid  you'd  better 
go.  Aunt  may  return. 

TED.  Go  !  Why,  I've  just  come.  Besides, 
your  aunt  has  never  seen  me.  I  only  figure 
in  her  mind  as  an  undesirable  lover  named 
Edward  Ralston.  Very  good  ;  if  she  returns, 
we'll  brazen  it  out.  Say  I'm  a  long-lost  cous 
in  or  a  book  agent. 

SIERRA.  You'll  have  to  do  the  fibbing,  Ted. 
I've  told  five  fibs  since  breakfast,  and  my  con 
science  aches. 

TED.  I'll  attend  to  it.  And  now  I'll  settle 
up  our  account :  fifteen  minutes'  interest  on 
one  kiss  makes — 

SIERRA.  You  can't  collect  it. 

TED.  Oh  !  can't  I  ? 

SIERRA.  First  catch  your  hare. 

(They  dodge  about  stage.  SIERRA  snatches 
up  sofa  pillow  ;  runs  out,  followed  by  TED, 
They  run  in  R.,  out  L.,  in  c.,  out  R.) 

SIERRA  (coming  in  cautiously,  R.).  He  miss 
ed  me  up-stairs.  I'm  going  to  hide  in  the 
back  hall,  and  when  he  comes  I'll  let  this  fly. 
(Tiptoes  off,  c.) 


16  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

TED  (stealing  in,  L.)  Not  here!  (Takes 
slumber -pillows  off  of  chair.)  Now,  then, 
look  out,  Sierra.  (Tiptoes  off,  L.) 

(Bell  rings  violently  three  times.  Enter  LADY 
GUINEVERE  LLANDPOORE  in  travelling  gown. 
She  carries  dressing-case,  umbrella,  and  mack 
intosh.  Speaks  in  timid,  hesitating  style.) 

LADY  G.  Ahem !  Is  anybody  home  ? 
(Comes  forward ;  looks  all  about.)  No  one 
here.  What  a  funny  house!  I  rang,  and 
rang,  and  rang.  No  one  came.  The  cabby 
— I  mean  cabman — wouldn't  wait.  I  couldn't 
sit  on  the  steps  like  a  beggar,  so  I  came  in. 
Mamma  said  I  must  expect  unconventionally, 
but  really —  Well,  I  might  as  well  sit  down. 
(Sits  R.  of  table,  holding  her  bag  and  umbrella 
tightly.)  I  wish  mamma  had  taken  me  with 
her;  but  papa's  Irish  tenants  won't  pay  any 
rent,  so  it  was  cheaper  to  have  me  with  Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones.  Besides,  mamma  was  afraid 
we'd  meet  Cousin  Chauncey.  He  has  a  gold 
mine,  without  any  gold  in  it,  out  West — in 
Louisville,  I  fancy.  Oh,  I  wish  some  one 
would  come !  Mamma  says  there  is  a  niece, 
a  Pawnee  in  petticoats,  whom  I  am  to  study 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  17 

up,  because  men  like  Pawnees — in  petticoats. 
I'm  to  learn  American  fascination  in  three — 
(Peals  of  laughter  heard  outside.) 

SIERRA.  I  hear  you  out  there,  Ted ! 

LADY  G.  Gracious,  some  one  coming ! 
What  did  mamma  tell  me  to  say?  Oh,  I 
know!  (Rises ;  comes  forward  smiling.)  Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones  ?  So  good  of — 

(Pillow  flies  in  R.  E.,  lands  at  her  feet.  SIER 
RA  follows  it;  stands  aghast,  staring  at 
LADY  G.  Cushion  flies  in  L.  E.,  followed  by 
TED,  who  is  equally  amazed.  LADY  G.  drops 
bag  and  umbrella,  turns  in  wonder  from  one 
to  the  other.) 

SIERRA.  Oh,  pray  excuse  us !  We're  hav 
ing  a  little  lark.  Don't  be  frightened. 

TED.  Yes,  that's  all.     No  cause  for  alarm. 

LADY  G.  (frigidly).  Thanks.  (To  SIERRA.) 
Is  Mrs.  Ondego-Jhones  at  home  ? 

SIERRA.  No,  not  at  present.  Lady  Guin 
evere  Llawdpoore,  I  presume.  Let  me  pre 
sent  myself — Miss  Bengaline,  Mrs.  Ondego- 
Jhones's  niece. 

LADY  G.  Charmed  to  meet  you,  Miss  Ben 
galine.  (Aside.)  The  fascinating  Pawnee. 
2 


18  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

(Brings  SIERRA  down  front.)  Please  present 
me  to  that  young  gentleman.  He  spoke  to 
me,  and  I  can't  answer  until  we  are  intro 
duced.  (Goes  back,  c. ;  stands  with  her  head 
carefully  averted  from  TED.) 

SIERRA  (aside).  Now,  if  I  tell  her  his  name, 
she'll  tell  aunt.  What  shall  I  do?  (Goes  to 
LADY  G.)  It's  not  customary  over  here,  Lady 
Guinevere,  to — er — to — 

LADY  G.  To  what?  (Looks  at  TED.)  Oh! 
I  didn't  notice  his  clothes  before.  He  is  the 
butler — 

SIERRA  (interrupting).  That's  the  idea. 
And,  as  I  say,  it's  not  customary ;  but,  to 
oblige  you,  I  will  present  Larkins,  my  aunt's 
new  butler,  to  you. 

LADY  G.  (sinking  into  a  chair).  Introduced 
to  a  butler  !  What  would  mamma  say  ? 

TED  (amazed).  What  is  that  ?   Come, I  say — 

SIERRA  (shaking  her  fist  behind  LADY  G.). 
'Ssh  !  Do  you,  or  do  you  not — er — buttle — 
for  Mrs.  Ondego-Jhones  ? 

TED.  Eh!     Oh!     (Laughing.}     I  do,  mum. 

SIERRA  (sternly}.  Very  good.  Then  carry 
Lady  Guinevere's  luggage  to  her  room.  The 
second  story  front. 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  19 

TED.  Yes,  mum.  (Picks  up  mackintosh, 
etc.,  goes  towards  door,  c.) 

LADY  G.  Stop  a  bit.  Mamma  said  I  was 
to  give  my  brasses  to — er — somebody,  and 
have  my  boxes  brought  here. 

SIERRA.  Larkins,  take  Lady  Guinevere's 
brasses,  and  telephone  for  a  messenger  to  see 
after  her  boxes.  (TED  bows ;  comes  back ; 
takes  checks.} 

LADY  G.  (timidly).  Stop  a  bit.  (Takes  out 
purse ;  gives  TED  a  piece  of  silver.  SIERRA 
laughs.) 

TED.  Thank  you,  your  ladyship.  ( Aside.) 
Confound  her  impudence  !  (Exit  c.) 

LADY  G.  Miss  Bengaline,  is  it  possible 
that  nice  young  man  is  a  common  butler  ? 

SIERRA.  Frankly,  Lady  Guinevere,  he  is  a 
most  uncommon  one.  His  life  is  a  perfect 
romance. 

LADY  G.  How  lovely  !  Tell  it  me.  (Aside.) 
Now  I'll  study  her. 

SIERRA.  All  right.  (Aside.)  Isn't  she  prim  ? 
I'll  take  a  rise  out  of  her.  (Sits  on  sofa.) 
First,  you  must  know,  he  is  the  son  of  rich 
parents,  who  brought  him  up  in  the  lap  of  lux 
ury,  sent  him  to  Harvard,  and  then — er — 


20  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

LADY  G.  (drawing  her  chair  nearer].    Died  ? 

SIERRA.  Thanks.  Died  when  he  was  a 
mere  infant. 

LADY  G.  But  I  don't  understand.  Is  Har 
vard  a  kindergarten  ? 

SIERRA.  Technically,  no ;  but  I  mean  a 
legal  infant  of  twenty  years ;  so  he  required 
a  guardian,  who  in  the  basest  way — er  — 
er — 

LADY  G.  Absconded  ?     All  Americans  do. 

SIERRA.  Well,  he  didn't.  He  put  all  the 
money  in  an  English  swindle  — an  Orange 
Pekoe  Trust,  which  went  up  the  flume. 
(Points  up.) 

LADY  G.  Went  where  ?     (Looks  up.) 

SIERRA.  Up  the  flume  —  burst,  smashed, 
crashed  (very  fast).  So  Ted — Larkins  was 
ruined,  and  was  opening  oysters  in  a  Bowery 
saloon,  when  aunt  found  him  and  brought 
him  here.  How  does  that  strike  you  ? 

LADY  G.  It's  beastly  jolly — I  mean  highly 
entertaining.  Now  I  understand  the  pillow 
fight.  I  must  tell  your  aunt. 

SIERRA  (springing  up).  Oh,  don't !  Please 
don't. 

LADY  G.   Whv  not  ?      I  admire  her  noble 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  21 

work  of  charity.  At  home  he'd  only  have 
received  out-door  relief  or  soup  tickets. 

SIERRA.  But  this  is  such  a  delicate  case, 
Lady  Guinevere,  and  my  aunt  is  so  mod 
est  about  her  charities.  The  least  allusion 
would —  You  understand  ?  (Aside.)  Six  fibs 
since  breakfast.  Oh,  Sapphira  ! 

LADY  G.  (rising,  goes  to  the  table  ;  sits).  If 
you  think  she'd  be  displeased,  count  on  my 
silence. 

SIERRA.  Displeased  is  a  mild  word.  Be 
sides,  aunt  thinks  pillow-fighting  is  hoyden- 
ish.  (Hunts  under  all  the  chairs  for  her  chew 
ing-gum,  talking  all  the  while.)  You  see, 
papa  sent  me  East  to  be  toned  down,  and 
aunt  is  doing  her  best ;  but  there's  too  much 
raw  material  in  me  to  make  a  good  society 
girl,  and  that's  a  fact.  (Finds  gum,  puts  it 
in  her  mouth,  sits  on  sofa,  with  her  feet  up.) 

LADY  G.  (aside).  How  easy  she  is !  I 
wish  I  could  do  that.  I'll  ask  her  to  teach 
me.  (To  SIERRA,  timidly.)  Miss  Bengaline, 
I've  a  favor  to  ask.  Don't  think  it  strange, 
but  will  you  teach  me  a  little  slang  and  fas 
cination  ? 

SIERRA  (demurely).  Mixed  or  separate  ? 


22  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

LADY  G.  (earnestly}.  I  fancy  they  always 
go  together,  for  my  brother  Clarence  says  the 
American  girls  are  perfectly  fascinating,  be 
cause  you  never  can  tell  what  they  will  do 
or  say  next.  He  says  they  are  more  fun 
than  a  box  of  monkeys ! 

SIERRA.  Indeed.  He's  very  kind.  (Aside.) 
A  box  of  monkeys ! 

LADY  G.  (seriously).  Oh,  Clarence  knows! 
So  I  thought  if  you'd  kindly  teach  me  a  little, 
I  might  be  more  of  a  success  when  I  go  back. 

SIERRA  (jumping  up).  I'll  do  my  best. 
Of  course  fascination  isn't  like  acting.  You 
can't  learn  it  in  six  lessons.  But  if  you  will 
teach  me  English  repose,  I'll  give  you  a  little 
American  dash.  (Aside.)  When  I've  finished, 
"  a  box  of  monkeys  "  won't  be  a  circumstance 
to  her. 

LADY  G.  Then  it's  a  bargain.  Shall  we  be 
gin  now  ? 

SIERRA.  Oh  no  ;  wait  till  after  lunch,  when 
you  are  rested.  Let  me  show  you  to  your 
room.  Now,  then,  Lady  Guinevere,  hook  on. 

LADY  G.  Do  what?  And  please  call  me 
Guinevere. 

SIERRA.  All  right.     Call  me  Sierra.     (Puts 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  23 

her  arm  around  LADY  G.)    That's  hooking-  on 

/  O 

And  now  we'll  make  tracks  for  your  room. 

LADY  G.  (triumphantly}.  I've  hooked  on, 
and  I'm  making  tracks. 

(GiRLS  exeunt  R.  Sell  rings  violently  several 
times.  Enter  CHAUNCEY  OGLETHORPE.  He 
looks  about  dubiously.} 

CHAUNCEY.  Ahem  !  Any  one  at  home  ? 
(Looks  all  around ;  listens;  smiles.)  What  a 
lucky  thing !  I'll  have  a  bit  of  time  to  pre 
pare  my  speech  to  Mrs.  Ondego-Jhones  and 
conquer  my  beastly  bashfulness.  (Comes  for 
ward.}  Queer  house  !  Quite  a  paradise  for 
tramps.  Front  door  hospitably  open  ;  no  one 
in  sight.  (Sits  by  table ;  takes  out  letter.) 
Mrs.  Campell's  note  of  introduction.  Wish 
I  deserved  half  she  says  of  me.  Now,  if  I'm 
only  not  overtaken  by  an  attack  of  shyness, 
all  will  go  well.  Very  neat  scheme.  My 
revered  aunt  writes  to  know  if  I  remain  on 
my  ranch  all  winter.  I  see  the  trap,  reply, 
"  Certainly ;  my  partner  is  East,  and  I  have 
to  stay  by  our  gold-mine."  Invite  her  to 
visit  me.  She  then  feels  confident  that  Guin 
evere  is  secure  from  my  attentions,  and  leaves 


24  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

her  here.  The  day  her  ladyship  starts  West 
I  arrive  here,  present  myself  to  Guinevere's 
hostess,  make  a  favorable  impression,  make 
desperate  love  to  Guinevere  all  winter,  and 
when  my  aunt  returns  she  will  find  her  im 
pecunious  nephew  established  as  her  son-in- 
law  elect.  Lovely  prospect!  (Rises;  walks 
up  and  down.)  Bah  !  desperate  love,  I  say. 
Don't  I  know  that  the  minute  a  female  ap 
pears  I  shall  become  a  tongue-tied,  stuttering 
idiot  ?  I  always  do.  What  is  there  in  a  pet 
ticoat  that  induces  total  suspension  of  all  my 
faculties  1  Then,  again,  how  can  I  stay  here 
all  winter?  Ralston  thinks  I'm  in  California, 
keeping  my  eye  on  that  gold-mine,  minus  the 
gold.  I've  a  good  notion  to  go  back.  The 
idea  of  meeting  two  strange  females  and 
Guinevere,  and  explaining  things !  Gad  !  it 
makes  me  burn  all  over.  (Lays  letter  on  table, 
R.  c. ;  takes  off  his  top-coat ;  hangs  it  on  chair, 
R.)  Jove !  I'll  step  into  this  side-room,  and 
collect  my  senses.  (Exit  L.) 

TED  (enters  R.  ;  sees  coat  and  hat.]  That's  a 
give-away.  I'll  remove  that  circumstantial 
evidence  of  my  presence,  and  then  write  to 
Sierra.  (Catches  up  wraps;  throws  through 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  25 

R.  ;  exit ;  comes  back  •  sits  down  by  table.} 
]STow  for  my  note.  What  will  I  write  on? 
(Sees  letter  left  by  CHAUNCEY.)  Ah!  this 
will  do — an  old  invitation.  (Tears  off  blank 
side;  throws  other  under  table;  writes.) 
11  Dearest  Sierra, — I  can't  keep  up  this  idiotic 
deception  any  longer.  Will  not  wait  to  see 
your  aunt.  Will  keep  my  eye  out  for  the 
red  book.  Can't  you — "  (Looks  up.)  Jove  ! 
some  one  coming.  I'll  go  in  the  library. 

(Rushes  off,  R.     Enter  CHAUNCEY,  L.) 

CHAUNCEY.  I've  got  my  speech  on  the  tip 
of  my  tongue.  It's  rather  neat,  too.  (Comes 
forward,  smiling.)  Ah  !  Mrs.  Ondego-Jhones, 
I  presume.  Allow  me — 

(SIERRA  enters,  c.  He  looks  at  her  in  horror; 
retreats  backward  to  sofa,  where  he  involun 
tarily  sits  down,  still  staring.) 

SIERRA.  A  strange  man  in  a  petrified  con 
dition.  Who  is  he,  and  what  petrified  him  ? 
Oh,  I  see  !  It's  the  butler  from  Mrs.  Cam- 
pell.  Well,  he  sha'n't  stay  and  interfere  with 
Ted.  (To  CHAUNCEY,  haughtily.)  You've  a 
note  from  Mrs.  Campell  ? 


26  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

CHAUNCEY  (rising ;  looks  at  floor.)  Yes. 
Mrs.  Ondego  -  Jhones —  I —  Oh  no  ;  too 
young — I —  (Aside.)  Confound  it ! 

SIERRA.  I  am  Miss  Bengaline ;  but  my 
aunt  left  full  instructions  in  regard  to  you. 
(Aside.)  She  said  ask  the  usual  questions. 
What  are  the  usual  questions  ?  Oh,  I  know  ! 
(Sits  by  the  table.)  Are  you  sober? 

CHAUNCEY  (coming  down  front).  She  thinks 
I  am  intoxicated.  I  must  explain.  I'll  make 
a  bold  effort.  (Turns  suddenly  to  SIERRA.) 
I'm  as  sober  as  you  are. 

SIERRA  (springing  up).  What  ?  How  dare 
you  address  me  so  impertinently  ?  That  set 
tles  it.  My  aunt  would  never  engage  you.  I 
will  bid  you  good-morning,  and  advise  you 
to  remember  that  the  first  requisite  in  a  but 
ler  is  a  respectful  manner.  ( Walks  back  to 
window.) 

CHAUNCEY.  Butler?  I?  Oh, madam  !  there 
— is — a — mistake —  I — er — I —  (Aside.)  I 
give  up.  ( Crosses  R.  ;  stands  looking  down, 
twisting  his  chain.) 

SIERRA  (coming  downL.  front).  He's  a  lunatic. 
He  can't  meet  my  eye ;  can't  keep  his  hands 
still ;  talks  wildly.  I  must  humor  him.  (To 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  27 

CHAUNCEY.)    Some  mistake  you  say.    Didn't 
you  come  from  Mrs.  Campell  ? 

CHAUNCEY  (aside).  The  room  is  going 
around,  and  my  tongue  thickening.  (To 
SIERRA.)  Yes;  I've  a  letter — a — a — letter, 
you  know  —  a — you  know —  (Aside.)  She 
thinks  I'm  a  fool. 

SIERRA..  Poor  fellow  !  He's  very  nice-look 
ing.  (To  CHAUNCEY.)  Allow  me  to  see 
your  letter. 

CHAUNCEY  (rushes  to  table,  stumbling  over 
a  chair  ;  hunts  for  letter).  Jove  !  it's  gone  ! 

SIERRA.  The  letter  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  Yes.  Good  -  morning.  Er — 
I'll  call  again— I'm  far  from  well —  I'm — 
er — er — feverish —  Jove  !  my  hat  and  coat 
are  gone ! 

SIERRA.  I'm  horribly  frightened. 

CHAUNCEY  (coming  down  R.  front.  Aside). 
What  must  she  think?  I'll  brace  up,  talk 
very  loud  and  fast,  and  explain.  (Rushes  to 
SIERRA  ;  seizes  her  hand.)  Madam,  I'm  very 
shy — very  shy — very,  very,  very  shy — 

SIERRA.  Shy  !     Ted  !  Ted  !  "  Help  ! 

TED  (runs  in;  pushes  CHAUNCEY  away). 
How  dare  you  touch  this  young  lady  ?  Sier- 


28  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

ra,  who  is  this  fellow  ?  (CHAUNCEY  cross 
es  R.) 

SIERRA  (throws  her  arms  about  TED).  Oh, 
Ted  !  I  think  he  is  crazy.  Don't  hurt  him. 
Don't  go  near  him. 

TED.  There,  my  dear,  compose  yourself. 
(Leads  her  to  sofa.)  Sit  down,  and  I'll  man 
age  him.  (Walks fiercely  up  to  CHAUNCEY.) 
Now,  sir ! 

CHAUNCEY  (turning).  Sir  !  Why,  it's  Ral 
ston  !  Thank  fortune. 

TED.  Chauncey  Oglethorpe  !  By  all  that's 
wonderful. 

CHAUNCEY.  Let  me  explain.  This  horrible 
tangle  is  the  last  result  of  my  dreadful  shy 
ness.  Miss  Bengaline  mistook  me  for  a  but 
ler  or  something — I  don't  quite  understand 
what — and  I  tried  to  undeceive  her,  and  now 
she  mistakes  me  for  a  lunatic. 

TED.  What  a  joke  !  Why  are  you  so  bash 
ful  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  I  don't' know.  I  was  built  that 
way  ;  increasing  crescendo  from  a  timid  child 
to  a  full-blown  idiot,  afraid  to  look  a  woman 
in  the  face. 

TED.  Poor  old   chap !     Never   mind.     I'll 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  29 

jr 

settle  matters.  Come  and  be  presented  to 
Sierra.  She's  no  end  jolly.  No  stiffness 
about  her. 

CHAUNCEY.  Oh,  no !  Let  me  sneak  quietly 
away,  and  then  you  explain. 

TED.  Nonsense  !  (Drags  him  to  SIERRA.) 
Sierra,  let  me  introduce  my  partner,  Chauncey 
Oglethorpe  —  a  very  much  abused  young 
man. 

SIERRA  (rising').  Charmed  to  meet  you,  Mr. 
Oglethorpe.  I've  heard  so  much  about  you 
from  Ted  and  your  cousin  Lady  Guinevere 
that  I  regard  you  as  an  old  friend.  Pray  for 
give  my  extraordinary  stupidity. 

CHAUNCEY.  Yes,  thank  you.    It  was  stupid. 

SIERRA.  Now  excuse  me  one  moment,  and 
I  will  tell  Lady  Guinevere  you  have  arrived. 
(Exit  c.) 

CHAUNCEY.  AVhat  a  lovely  girl !  Has  lots  of 
tact.  Don't  stare  a  fellow  out  of  countenance. 

TED.  Sierra  is  a  trump.  Have  a  cigarette, 
and  be  comfortable  till  she  returns. 

CHAUNCEY.  Smoke  here?  What  would  Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones  say  to  that? 

TED  (laughing).  She'd  think  it  very  friend 
ly  on  the  part  of  Lord  Doncaster's  son. 


30  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

CHAUNCEY.  Here  goes,  then.  (Lights  cigar 
ette.}  How  about  you?  (They  sit  by  table.) 

TED.  You  don't  understand.  Mrs.  Ondego- 
Jhones  hasn't  the  pleasure  of  my  acquaintance. 
I  figure  in  her  mind  as  a  Western  desperado, 
whom  Sierra  Id  to  be  separated  from  at  all 
hazards.  I  am  here  clandestinely.  Nice  po 
sition,  isn't  it? 

CHAUNCEY.  By  Jove  !  Ted,  it's  a  pity  she 
can't  know  you,  barring  impecuniosity.  She'd 
be  proud  of  you  for  a  nephew-in-law. 

TED.  Thanks,  very  much.  Speaking  of  im- 
pecuniousness,  how  did  you  leave  our  mine  ? 
Anything  turned  up  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  Yes ;  the  men  were  turning  up 
lots  of  dirt  when  I  left  last  week,  and  the 
foreman  said  he  thought  he  could  manage  to 
do  the  swearing  for  us  both,  so  I  left  him, 
with  a  red  and  blue  halo  about  him,  watching 
the  men  work. 

TED.  Well,  I  feel  sure  there  is  gold  there. 

CHAUNCEY.  Do  you  ?  By-the-bye,  have  you 
seen  my  cousin  ? 

TED.  Yes.  She  took  me  for  the  butler,  and 
Sierra  didn't  undeceive  her.  Now,  aside  from 
my  clothes,  do  you  think  I  look  like  a  butler  ? 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEFS.  31 

CHAUNCEY.  No  ;  you're  not  sedate  enough. 
But,  by  Jove,  an  idea.  AVhy  don't  you  keep 
up  the  deception  ?  Win  your  way  into  the 
aunt's  heart,  and  keep  near  the  niece  all  winter. 

TED  (springing  up).  My  dear  fellow,  no 
power  on  earth  would  induce  me  to  place  my 
self  in  such  a  position.  Imagine  me  opening 
the  door,  handing  the  kettle,  and  inquiring, 
with  a  sickly  grin,  "  Did  you  ring,  madam  ?" 
(Advances ;  meets  MRS.  ONDEGO-JHONES  en 
tering  c.  •  stands  in  amazement.) 

MRS.  0.  Did  I  ring  ?  I  should  think  I  did. 
You  are  —  oh,  I  see  —  the  butler  from  Mrs. 
Campell.  Very  fortunate.  Please  take  my 
parcel.  (Hands  him  parcel ;  TED  takes  it  si 
lently.) 

CHAUNCEY  (rising.  Aside).  What  a  joke  ! 
(Crosses  L.) 

MRS.  O.  (advancing).  Mr.  Oglethorpe,  I  pre 
sume.  Yes.  Mrs.  Campell  told  me  I  should 
probably  find  you  here.  So  pleased.  Yes. 

CHAUNCEY.  Thanks— er — er—  Will  you 
pardon  my  smoking — er — 

MRS.  0.  Don't  mention  it.  I'm  charmed 
to  see  you  feel  at  home.  Now,  before  we  go 
any  further,  which  is  your  hotel  ? 


32  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

CHAUNCEY.  The — er — St.  James. 

MRS.  0.  Very  good.  My  man  shall  go  right 
down  and  order  your  luggage  sent  here ;  for 
my  house  must  be  your  home  while  you  are 
in  the  city.  As  I  said  to  Mrs.  Campell,  Lord 
Doncaster's  son  has  every  claim  on  my  hos 
pitality.  Excuse  me  one  minute.  (Goes  to 
table;  seats  herself .) 

CHAUNCEY.  You're  very  kind.  (Aside.) 
She's  easy  enough  to  get  on  with.  I  wonder 
how  she  knows  the  governor  ?  (Sits  on  sofa; 
takes  up  paper.) 

MRS.  O.  (to  TED).  Now,  my  good  man, 
we'll  very  soon  come  to  an  understanding. 

TED  (aside).  Will  we  ? 

MRS.  0.  Whatever  your  terms,  I  agree  to 
them ;  whatever  stipulations  you  make,  I 
agree.  Having  been  to  all  the  intelligence- 
offices  unsuccessfully,  I  am  desperate.  With 
a  houseful  of  company,  and  a  reception  to 
morrow,  I  must  have  a  butler.  What  is  your 
name  ? 

TED  (muttering).  What  '11  I  say  ? 

MRS.  0.  Eh?  Oh!  Whuttlesay.  How 
very  peculiar  !  And  yet  how  very  English. 
(CHAUNCEY  bursts  into  a  fit  of  laughter.) 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  33 

MRS.  O.  A  joke,  Mr.  Oglethorpe  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  Yes,  er — a  good  joke.   (Reads.) 

TED.  Pardon  me,  madam,  there  is  some 
misunderstanding. 

MRS.  0.  Eh?  Oh!  not  Whuttlesay?  What 
then? 

TED.  Bother  the  name  !  I  mean  I  cannot 
remain  in  your  service.  I'm  not — not — sure 
I  could — er — suit.  I  haven't — buttled  for 
several  years. 

MRS.  O.  Buttled  ? 

TED.  Imperfect  tense — I  buttle,  you  buttle, 
he  buttles,  or  is  buttled.  (Aside.)  What  am 
I  talking  about  ? 

MRS.  O.  Ah  !  a  new  verb  ;  an  English  re 
vival,  I  presume.  However,  I  understood  you 
had  been  a  valet. 

TED.  A  valet  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  A  valet !     Jove  ! 

MRS.  0.  And  it  makes  no  difference.  You 
are  very  presentable,  and  I  must  have  you 
for  to-morrow.  The  maids  shall  attend  to 
everything  else,  if  you  will  only  remain,  and 
open  the  door  and  hand  the  kettle.  You  can 
leave  the  following  day ;  but  you  must  stay 
at  present. 
3 


34  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

TED  (aside).  I'll  do  it.  (Aloud.)  Very 
good,  madam ;  to  oblige  you,  I  will,  on  the 
condition  that  I  am  free  to  do  just  what  I 
choose  and  nothing  else. 

MRS.  O.  Then  that  is  settled.  (Slips  a  bill 
into  his  hand.)  You'll  find  me  practically 
grateful. 

TED  (aside).  My  second  tip. 

CHAUNCEY.  He  said  no  power  on  earth 
would  make  him  do  it. 

MRS.  0.  Whuttlesay,  you  may  retire.    Mr. — 

(Enter  LADY  GUINEVER'E  and  SIERRA,  c.) 

MRS.  0.  Ah,  my  dear  Lady  Guinevere,  wel 
come  !  So  very  pleased  to  see  you  again. 
I've  a  pleasant  surprise  for  you.  Mr.  Ogle- 
thorpe  has  promised  me  a  visit. 

LADY  G.  You  are  very  kind  to  me,  Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones.  It  is  indeed  a  delightful 
surprise.  (Aside.)  What  would  mamma  say  ? 
(Crosses  L.  to  CHAUNCEY,  who  is  much  embar 
rassed.) 

MRS.  O.  Mr.  Oglethorpe,  permit  me  to  pre 
sent  you  to  my  niece,  Miss  Bengaline. 

CHAUNCEY.  Thanks.  We've — er — met  be 
fore — 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  35 

MRS.  0.  Indeed  !     Where  ? 

SIERRA  (looking  straight  at  CHAUNCEY).  I 
do  not  recollect  meeting  Mr.  Oglethorpe. 

CHAUNCEY  (aside).  Jove !  I  forgot.  (Aloud.) 
Yes,  I  meant  I  had  never  seen  anything  like 
Miss  Bengaline. 

LADY  G-.  Chauncey  ! 

CHAUNCEY.  I — er — meant  I'd  like  to  have 
seen  —  er — something  like  her — er — only  I 
never  had. 

SIERRA.  Aunt,  who  is  the  other  young  gen 
tleman  ? 

MRS.  0.  The  other  young  gentleman  is 
Whuttlesay,  the  new  butler. 

SIERRA.  Whuttlesay?  (Aside.)  What  a 
joke ! 

LADY  G.  (to  CHAUNCEY).  She  said  his 
name  was  Larkins. 

CHAUNCEY.  Hush  ! 

MRS.  O.  Whuttlesay,  take  my  wraps.  ( Gives 
him  mantle,  hat,  muff.)  Now,  young  people, 
follow  me  to  prepare  for  dinner,  and  if  you 
notice  any  omissions,  remember  my  establish 
ment  is  settling  down  after  a  terrific  domes 
tic  cyclone. 


36  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

(LADY  G.  and  CHAUNCEY  exit  c.  MRS.  0.  and 
SIERRA  follow.  SIERRA  kisses  her  hand  to 
TED,  who  stands  right  of  centre  entrance. 
As  curtain  falls,  he  throws  MRS.  O.'s  wraps 
violently  on  floor  •  sinks  into  chair.) 

QUICK    CURTAIN. 


ACT   II. 

EVENING. 

SCENE. — The  same.  Enter  MRS.  O.,  SIERRA, 
LADY  G.,  CHAUNCEY,  c.,  in  evening  dress. 
LADY  G.,  and  CHAUNCEY  come  down  L., 
front. 

MRS.  0.  Now  I  must  leave  you.  I  have 
two  receptions  to  attend  before  11  o'clock. 
Sierra,  I  leave  you  to  entertain  Lady  Guin 
evere  and  Mr.  Oglethorpe. 

SIERRA.  Yes,  aunt.     Drive — 

MRS.  O.  (aside).  Do  not  say  drive  on. 
Study  Lady  Guinevere.  Observe  her  air  of 
well-bred  repose,  her  careful  language. 
(Aloud.)  Lady  Guinevere,  you  must  allow 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  37 

Sierra  to  show  you  my  old  masters.  Mr. 
Oglethorpe,  you  will  find  my  billiard-table  in 
perfect  order.  Sierra,  remember  !  Au  revoir  ! 

ALL.  Au  revoir!     (Exit  MRS.  0.,  c.) 

SIERRA.  Do  you  want  to  see  the  old  masters, 
Guinevere  ?  They're  patent  Americans,  you 
know.  (Sits  R.  of  table.  CHAUNCEY  and 
LADY  G.  on  sofa.) 

LADY  G.  Patent  American  ?  Old  mas 
ters? 

SIERRA.  Yes  :  copies,  you  know.  Kept  up 
a  chimney  until  they're  sooty  enough.  They 
are  all  made  in  Nassau  Street. 

LADY  G.  How  clever  you  Americans  are  ! 

SIERRA.  Yes;  we're  all  here.  Mr.  Ogle 
thorpe,  the  cushions  of  aunt's  table  are  as 
dead  as  Moses.  She  can't  play  a  little  bit. 
Shall  we  have  a  game  ? 

CHAUNCEY  (looking  sentimentally  at  GUIN 
EVERE).  Just  as  you  say,  Miss  Bengaline.  But 
— er — why — not — simply — talk  ? 

SIERRA.  Yes ;  let's.  I  only  asked  because 
aunt  suggested  it. 

MRS.  0.  (appears  c.,  in  opera  wrap).  I'm 
off,  young  people.  Enjoy  yourselves.  Oh, 
these  wretched  social  duties!  Lady  Guin- 


38  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

evere,  the  rest  of  your  trim — er — boxes  have 
been  carried  to  your  room.  Good-bye. 

ALL  (rising).  Good-bye.     (Exit  MRS.  O.) 

SIERRA.  Oh,  Guinevere,  do  let  me  help  you 
unpack  your  "trunk  boxes,"  and  show  me 
your  London  gowns.  Mr.  Oglethorpe,  will 
you  excuse  us  a  few  minutes  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  With  pleasure. 

LADY  G.  Chauncey ! 

CHAUNCEY.  Well,  I — er — didn't  mean — 

SIERRA.  We  can  imagine  what  you  meant. 
Let  me  assuage  your  grief  with  papers — Eng 
lish,  French,  American.  (Lays  papers  on 
table.)  NowJaave-a  cigarette,  and  make  your 
self  at  home  till  we  return.  (GIRLS  exeunt  c.) 

CHAUNCEY.  A  very  nice  little  girl.  She 
knows  what  a  fellow  likes  after  dinner — soli 
tude,  smoke,  and  news.  (Lights  cigarette. 
Sits  R.  of  table.) 

(Enter  TED  cautiously,  L.) 

TED.  Is  the  missus  off  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  Yes ;  and  the  girls  up-stairs. 

TED  (sitting  L.  of  table).  Then  I  will  have  a 
little  vacation.  Well,  isn't  this  the  jolliest  mix  ? 
How  did  you  think  I  got  on  at  dinner  ? 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  39 

CHAUNCEY.  I  was  amazed  at  your  cheek. 
Every  time  Miss  Bengaline  brought  out  that 
Whuttlesay  with  such  gusto,  I  nearly  col 
lapsed.  Indeed,  between  my  guilty  knowl 
edge  of  your  identity  and  my  consummate 
bashfulness,  I  imagine  Mrs.  Ondego-J hones 
considers  me  a  donkey. 

TED.  Nonsense  !  All  you  need  is  confi 
dence. 

CHAUNCEY.  Confidence  !  How  am  I  to  get 
it?  I  was  born  with  my  foot  in  my  mouth, 
instead  of  a  silver  spoon.  I  wish  you  could 
give  me  a  little  audacity,  and  show  me  how 
you  manage  women. 

TED.  That's  easy. 

CHAUNCEY.  Easy  !  Why,  fifty  times  I've 
been  on  the  verge  of  getting  off  a  proposal 
to  Guinevere.  Led  up  to  it  neatly ;  really 
been  almost  coherent,  you  know ;  only  to 
stand  at  the  last  moment  gaping,  with  my 
mouth  open,  because  she  looked  at  me. 

TED.  Well,  you  must  get  more  confidence, 
and  learn  diplomacy.  Instead  of  letting  her 
disconcert  you,  you  must  embarrass  her. 
The  way  to  win  a  woman  is  to — 

CHAUNCEY.  Yes ;  go  on. 


40  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

TED.  Never  let  her  feel  certain  of  you ; 
play  her  like  a  trout ;  tantalize  her ;  lead  her 
on ;  when  she  grows  warm,  cool  off;  when  she 
comes  forward,  retreat.  Be  fascinating,  but  a 
little  out  of  her  reach.  When  she  is  wrought  up 
to  the  proper  point,  propose,  and  she's  yours. 

CHAUNCEY.  Is  that  how  you  won  Miss  Ben 
gal  ine  ? 

TED  (meditatively').  Well,  no.  But  it's  the 
way  she  won  me,  and  it  is  a  splendid  theory. 
Poor  rule  that  won't  work  both  ways,  you 
know. 

CHAUNCEY.  Do  you  fancy  I  could  do  that 
kind  of  thing  ? 

TED.  Certainly.  All  you  need  is  a  little 
practice  to  give  you  confidence.  I'll  show 
you.  Courtship  made  easy.  Here.  (Pins 
afghan  about  his  waist ;  sits  on  sofa,  fanning 
himself  with  newspaper.)  Now,  then,  I'm  a 
perfect  lady.  Imagine  me  Lady  Guinevere, 
and  propose  to  me. 

CHAUNCEY  (goes  to  the  door).  Now  watch 
me  lead  up  to  my  point  gracefully.  ( Comes 
forward.)  Good  -  evening,  Guinevere.  I've 
been  waiting  two  years  to  say  something. 

TED  (coquettishly).  Oh,  Chauncey  ! 


A    BOX   OF    MONKEYS.  41 

CHAUNCEY.  Well,  I  have.  I  love  you  ;  be 
my  wife. 

TED.  Is  that  your  idea  of  "  leading  up  to 
it  ?"  You'd  frighten  her  into  saying  no.  Al 
low  me.  (Pins  afghan  on  CHAUNCEY.)  •  Now, 
then,  let  me  show  you  my  ideas/  (CHAUNCEY 
sits  on  sofa.  TED  crosses  R.  Coming  forward.] 
Ah,  Guinevere,  how  fortunate  to  find  you 
alone !  Thought  I'd  drop  in  a  moment  on 
my  way  to  the  A's  and  B's  and  C's.  Horrid 
grind,  society  !  That  will  give  her  the  idea 
you  are  much  sought  after,  and  the  instant  a 
girl  thinks  you  a  social  exotic,  she  wants  you. 

CHAUNCEY.  I  see.  Now  I'm  Guinevere. 
Can't  you  make  it  two  minutes,  or  do  you 
think  time  spent  with  a  cousin  is  wasted? 
(Fans  himself ,  looks  at  TED  coquettishly.) 

TED  (sentimentally).  Time  spent  with  you, 
Guinevere,  goes  all  too  fast.  Are  you  going 
to  the  curling  match?  After  a  compliment, 
put  on  the  brake  with  a  commonplace  remark. 
That  whets  the  feminine  appetite. 

CHAUNCEY.  I  see ;  caviare,  as  it  were. 
Where  were  we  ?  Oh,  I  recollect !  I'm  afraid 
you  are  a  sad  flatterer. 

TED.  Truth  cannot  flatter.     That's  old,  but 


42  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

invaluable.  (Takes  Cn  AUK  cw's  hand.)  What 
an  exquisite  bangle  !  Turkish,  is  it  not  ?  May 
I  examine  it  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  It's  wished  on. 

TED  (sitting  beside  CHAUNCEY  on  sofa). 
Wished  on  ?  By  whom  ? 

CHAUNCEY  (shyly).  My  mamma. 

TED.  Oh,  that's  all  right.    Dear  little  hand ! 

CHAUNCEY.  Oh,  you  needn't  hold  my  hand. 
Mamma  wouldn't  like  it. 

TED.  Give  me  the  right  to. 

CHAUNCEY  (with  great  artlessness).  How  ? 

TED  (putting  arm  around.  CHAUNCEY).  Give 
me  yourself.  Then  your  hand  is  my  hand, 
and  a  man  has  a  perfect  right  to  hold  his  own 
hand.  That's  logic. 

CHAUNCEY.  Logic  ?     It's  impudence. 

TED.  Same  thing.  You  love  me,  darling, 
don't  you.  Say  that  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Women  like  the  masterful  style  of  wooing. 

CHAUNCEY  (laughing).  Do  you  love  me  ? 

TED  (laughing).  I  adore  you.  (Kisses 
CHAUNCEY.)  Is  it  yes  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  Ask  mamma.  (Jumps  up.) 
Jove  !  I  wish  Guinevere  were  here  now  !  I'd 
just  fire  off  my  proposal  like  a  ton  of  brick. 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  43 

TED.  New  way  of  making  a  mash,  eh? 
Well,  good-luck  to  you,  old  fellow,  when  you 
do  meet  her.  Why  don't  you  do  it  to-morrow 
evening  ?  Ask  her  to  waltz ;  then  get  her 
into  the  conservatory.  There's  everything 
in  the  surroundings. 

CHAUNCEY.  I'll  do  it.  Say,  Ted,  if  it's  not 
too  much  of  a  bore,  show  me  how  to  "back" 
my  partner  without  tearing  her  dress  to  rib 
bons,  and  make  her  my  enemy  for  life. 

TED.  All  right. 

(  Whistles  waltz.  They  dance  round  the  stage, 
CHAUNCEY  tripping  over  afghan.  GIRLS 
heard  laughing.) 

TED.  The  girls  !  Your  cousin  mustn't  find 
me  here. 

(Exeunt  CHAUNCEY  and  TED,  K.     Enter 
GIRLS,  c.) 

LADY  G.  (timidly).  Rats  ! 

SIERRA.  Guinevere,  the  modest,  shrinking 
air  with  which  you  sling  slang  is  simply  con 
vulsing. 

LADY  G.  I  know  I  don't — er — sling  it  very 
well  yet,  but  I  mean  to  learn.  Mamma  says 


44  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

it's  time  we  girls  rallied  around  our  young 
peers,  and  saved  the  honor  of  old  England.  Do 
you  know,  Sierra  (tragically},  there's  hardly  a 
marriageable  duke  left.  All  snapped  up  by 
the  Americans  ;  and  now  they're  commencing 
on  our  rich  commoners. 

SIERRA.  How  greedy!  (Sits  on  table; 
swings  her  feet.)  We  get  there  every  time, 
though. 

LADY  G.  (aside).  How  fascinating.  (To 
SIERRA.)  Let  me  do  that  too.  (Sits  by  SIER 
RA  on  table,  imitating  every  motion.)  Do  please 
teach  me  fascination. 

SIERRA  (aside).  Now  for  a  circus.  (Aloud.) 
It's  very  hard  to  be  fascinating  in  cold  blood 
with  a  female,  but  I'll  do  my  best,  because  I 
cottoned  to  you  from  the  first.  Sabe  ? 

LADY  G.  (timidly).  I'm  on  to  your  lead. 
Is  that  right? 

SIERRA.  You're  getting  on  like  a  house 
afire.  (Aside.)  How  pleased  her  brother  will 
be! 

LADY  G.  Thanks,  dear.  But  there's  some 
thing  wrong  yet.  When  I  told  your  aunt 
her  cook  wasn't  any  slouch,  she  seemed  real 
ly  thunder-struck.  Yet  Clarence  told  me 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  45 

that  slouch  was  a  common  American  expres 
sion. 

SIERRA.  It  is.  About  as  common  as  a  word 
can  be.  You're  right  there.  How  I  would 
like  to  meet  your  brother !  As  I  cannot, 
suppose  you  play  his  part,  and  I'll  entertain 
you  in  real  American  style,  so  you  can  see 
the  true  inwardness  of  our  resemblance  to  a 
box  of  monkeys.  (Goes  off,  c.) 

LADY  G.  How  charming  she  is !  But  I'm 
learning.  (Enter  SIERRA.)  Good  -  evening, 
Miss  Bengaline. 

SIERRA  (in  door-way).  "  Well,  this  is  way 
up!"  That's  New  York.  (Coming  for 
ward).  "Shake,  old  chap,"  is  Chicago,  and 
"Put  it  there,  pard,"  is  Boston.  (Shakes 
GUINEVERE'S  hand  violently.)  Local  dialects, 
you  know. 

LADY  G.  (laughing').  Oh,  how  funny  !  Do 
you  girls  really  say  such  things?  (Sits  on 
sofa.) 

SIERRA.  Please  remember  you  are  your 
brother. 

LADY  G.  What  would  he  say  ? 

SIERRA.  He  would  probably  stick  his  mon 
ocle  in  his  eye,  look  as  though  he  was  trying 


46  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

to  recollect  an  idea  left  him  by  his  grand 
father,  and  say  —  nothing,  unless  he  could 
manage  some  nice  little  compact  repartee, 
such  as  "Gad!"  or  "Moses!" 

LADY  G.  Yes,  I  fancy  Clarence  would  say 
"Moses!" 

SIERRA.  Of  course.  Ever  so  many  English 
men  come  to  papa's  ranch.  I  know  their 
style. 

LADY  G.  Well,  I'll  be  Clarence  again.  Mo 
ses  !  Did  you  ever  hear — oh  !  Thingummy 
— you  know  the  opera  that  German  beggar 
wrote,  three  old  ladies  playing  with  a  clothes 
line,  three  fates,  or  something,  by — Wagner. 
Do  you  like  that  sort  of  thing  ? 

SIERRA.  You've  got  that  down  fine.  Now 
watch,  Guinevere,  I'm  going  to  let  monkey 
No.  1  out  of  the  box.  (Jumps  up.}  Like 
Wagner !  Never  while  there's  a  cat  left  to 
our  back  fence.  I  like  tunes  with  dances  in 
between  each  verse.  But  above  all  dances — 
Say,  I'll  dance  you  a  breakdown  so  you  can 
see  how  I  entertain  young  men. 

LADY  G.  Oh  !   yes,  do  ! 

(Dances  break-down  or  fancy  dance;  throwsher- 
self  into  a  chair  R.  of  table.) 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  47 

SIERRA.  There !  A  tune  like  that  snatches 
Wagner  bald-headed. 

LADY  G.  Jove  !     Is  that  right? 

SIERRA.  Correct.  Now,  then,  Guinevere, 
Til  let  monkey  No.  2  out  of  the  box.  Waltz 
up,  and  I'll  show  you  how  to  play  poker. 
(LADY  G.  waltzes  stiffly  to  table.) 

SIERRA  (laughing).  Waltz  up  is  slang,  my 
dear.  A  charming  Americanism  for  approach. 

LADY  G.  (sits  opposite  SIERRA).  Oh  !  Then 
let  me  write  it  down.  (Takes  out  tablets; 
writes.)  "  Snatch  Wagner  bald-headed.  Waltz 
up."  I've  quite  a  nice  little  list. 

SIERRA  (dealing  cards.  Aside).  I  haven't 
the  faintest  idea  of  how  poker  is  played,  and 
my  imagination  is  nearly  exhausted.  (To 
GUINEVERE.)  We  each  have  eleven  cards, 
match  all  we  can,  and  put  our  money  on  the 
— er — pot. 

LADY  G.  Where  is  the  pot  ? 

SIERRA.  The  pot?  Oh,  that's  a  term  de 
rived  from  potluck,  meaning  that  you  plank 
your  pile  on  whatever  happens  along.  Plank 
your  pile  means  invest  your  funds. 

LADY  G.  I  see  —  at  least  I'm  on  to  the 
game  !  I  got  that  off  nicely,  didn't  I  ? 


48  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

SIERRA.  Yes :  you're  as  bright  as  a  red 
wagon. 

LADY  G.  Thanks,  dear.  Are  your  feet 
crossed  ?  (Looks  under  table.) 

SIERRA  (crossing  her  feet).  Certainly.  Amer 
ican  girls  always  cross  their  feet,  plant  one 
hand  on  their  hip  thus  (suits  action  to  word), 
talk  at  the  top  of  their  nasal  voices,  contra 
dict  their  elders,  say  "  I  guess,"  and  laugh 
incessantly.  That  is  the  groundwork  of  the 
fascination  which  makes  them  (sarcastically) 
more  fun  than  a  box  of  monkeys. 

LADY  G.  (imitates  SIERRA'S  pose.  Takes 
up  tablets;  reads).  Now  for  the  game,  ante 
up,  and  watch  me  snake  the  pot. 

SIERRA  (laughing).  Good ! 

LADY  G.  Oh,  I'm  learning.  (Consults  tab 
lets  ;  throws  pair  of  kings  on  table.)  Get  on 
to  those,  and  fork  over  the  boodle. 

SIERRA.  What  ?  Guinevere,  where  did  you 
get  those — those  expressions  ? 

LADY  G.  Out  of  an  English  novel  called 
The  Western  Belle;  A  Prairie  Romance. 
The  heroine  in  it  talks  that  way.  Isn't  it 
right  ? 

SIERRA.  Right  ?     Oh,  certainly,  beautiful ! 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  49 

How  pleased  your  brother  will  be  with  your 
progress ! 

LADY  G.  (innocently).  Yes.     Won't  lie  ? 

SIERRA.  Undoubtedly.  Suppose  we  don't 
play  any  more  poker.  I  will  teach  you  that 
gem  of  a  song.  (Rises  ;  comes  down  front.) 
My  pupil  is  so  far  ahead.  I  shall  have  to 
retire. 

LADY  G.  (joining  her).  Yes ;  do  teach  me 
the  song. 

(They put  arms  about  each  other  ;  dance.    TED 
and  CHAUNCEY  enter  ;  stop  in  amazement,  R.) 

CHAUNCEY.  My  proper  cousin  ! 

TED.  Sierra  dancing  a  break-down  !  (GIRLS 
stop,  L.) 

LADY  G.  Chauncey  with  the  romantic  but 
ler  ! 

TED  (crossing  to  SIERRA).  Sierra,  what  are 
you  up  to?  {They  retire  up  to  window.) 

LADY  G.  (crossing  to  CHAUNCEY).  The  but 
ler  called  her  Sierra.  Did  you  hear  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  Hush  !     He  isn't  a  butler. 

LADY  G.  No  ?     Who  is  he  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  My  partner,  Edward  Ralston, 
disguised.  The  aunt  don't  know  him. 

4 


50  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

LADY  G.  How  romantic  ! 

SIERRA  (coming  forward  with  TED).  Guin 
evere,  Mr.  Ralston  desires  to  be  presented  to 
you  in  his  proper  character.  (TED  bows.) 

LADY  G.  (timidly  holding  out  her  hand.) 
Shake,  old  chap. 

TED.  Pardon? 

LADY  G.  (confused).  I  mean,  put  it  there, 
pard. 

TED  (amazed).  Certainly.     (Shakes  hands.) 

SIERRA.  Ted,  I  want  you  one  moment. 
(They  retire  to  piano.  SIERRA  sits  doivn, play 
ing  softly  while  TED  talks  to  her.) 

CHAUNCEY.  Guinevere,  it's  not  my  affair, 
you  know,  but  where  did  you  pick  up  those 
dreadful  words  ? 

LADY  G.  They  are  not  dreadful.  Mamma 
said  I  was  to  acquire  a  little  American  fasci 
nation,  so  I  could  captivate  a  duke. 

CHAUNCEY.  Do  you  want  to  captivate  a 
duke? 

LADY  G.  No  ;  but  I  must  obey  mamma. 

CHAUNCEY.  Only  till  you  —  er  —  marry. 
Look  here,  Guinevere — look  here — (tying  his 
handkerchief  into  knots) — I — I — want  to — to 
tell  you  something. 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  51 

LADY  G.   Yes,  Chauncey. 

CHAUNCEY  (desperately).  I'm —  I  —  I  love 
you.  I  know  you  think  I'm  a  stammering 
idiot.  I  know  you  won't  have  me.  I  don't 
wonder.  I  wouldn't  were  I  you.  I'm  shy 
and  poor,  my  gold-mine  won't  pan  out,  and 
oh,  Guinevere,  say  it  quickly  ! 

LADY  G.  Say  what  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  No. 

LADY  G.  (shyly).  I'd  much  rather  say  yes. 

CHAUNCEY.  You  dear  lovely  girl !  (Kisses 
her.) 

LADY  G.  Chauncey  !  Think  of  Sierra  and 
Mr.  Ralston ! 

CHAUNCEY.  Oh,  they're  engaged  them 
selves.  Miss  Bengaline,  Ed,  congratulate  me. 
Guinevere  accepts  me, 

SIERRA  (coming  forward).  I  do  congratulate 
you  both. 

TED.  And  I.  (Brings  CHAUNCEY  down 
front.)  Did  you  try  my  receipt  ? 

CHAUNCEY.  No.  I  shut  my  eyes,  and  dived 
in,  and  Guinevere  landed  me. 

SIERRA.  Young  people,  I  propose  a  grand 
celebration  of  this  happy  event.  What  shall 
it  be — music,  dancing,  charades  ? 


52  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

LADY  G.  Charades;  and  Chauncey  and  I 
will  be  audience.  (Sits  on  sofa;  CHAUNCEY 
follows.} 

SIERRA.  Very  good.  Come,  Ted.  (To 
TED.)  It's  the  only  kindness  we  can  show 
them,  to  leave  them  alone.  (Exit  TED  and 
SIERRA,  R.) 

CHAUNCEY.  Guinevere,  I'm  the  happiest  fel 
low  alive.  What  a  relief  to  have  the  proposal 
over! 

LADY  G.  (innocently).  Yes  ;  isn't  it  ? 

CHAUNCEY  (taking  her  hand).  Dear  little 
hand.  (Bell  rings.') 

LADY  G.  They're  ready.  Let  go  my 
hand. 

TED  (entering  R.).  Lady  and  dear  old  chap, 
you  are  now  invited  to  witness  a  performance 
unequalled  in  the  annals  of  the  stage.  Two 
artists,  unassisted  by  scenery,  will  act  out  a 
word  of  four  syllables  in  one  scene,  which 
requires  twenty-four  characters,  a  chorus,  a 
village  green,  a  raging  ocean,  and  a  blood 
hound.  (Boivs.  Exit  R.) 

CHAUNCEY.  Jove  !  how  he  rattles  on !  I 
wish  I  was  clever. 

LADY    G.   You   are    clever,   Chauncey.      1 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  53 

don't  like  men  who  are  so  awfully  talka 
tive. 

SIERRA  (from  door).  Ready  ? 

LADY  G.  Let  her  go  (consults  tablets),  Gal 
lagher  ! 

TED  AND  SIERRA  (skip  on,  hand  in  hand ; 
dance  around  stage,  singing.')  We  are  the  cho 
rus.  We  arc  the  chorus.  Tra-la-la-la,  tra-la- 
la-la.  (Stop  R.  front.) 

TED.  In  the  absence  of  scenery,  kindly  im 
agine  a  village  green  surrounded  by  spreading 
oaks.  In  the — er — bosky  shade,  happy  ten 
antry  drinking  air  with  gusto  out  of  paper- 
mugs,  while  the  oldest  inhabitant,  in  a  white 
smock,  explains  the  situation  to  his  son's 
wife.  Is  that  clear  ? 

LADY  G.  Yes  ;  do  go  on. 

TED  (in  high,  piping  voice).  Ees,  ma  dear ; 
it's  a  great  day  for  me.  I's  ployed  with  t'owd 
squoire  w'en  ee  were  a  lad,  and  now  'is  son  is 
a-comin'  back  to  the  old  'ouse.  'Tis  a  joyful 
day — a  joyful  day  for  I,  oo  is  a  undered  and 
fifty -two  come  Lady-day.  (  Weeps.) 

SIERRA.  There,  Father  Hodge,  don't  ee  be 
choildish.  Sit  ye  in  the  shade,  hand  'ave  a 
mug  o'  beer.  Young  squoire,  ee  won't  for- 


54  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

git  ye.  Ee'll  be  'ere  directly  with  his  sweet- 
'art,  Lady  Clare,  and  'is  wicked  cousin.  A 
bad  lot,  that  wicked  cousin  —  a  bold,  bad 
willian. 

TED.  Now  we  are  the  chorus  again.  (Takes 
SIERRA'S  hand.  Both  cry  together.}  Hurray  ! 
Hurray  !  Hurray  for  the  young  squire  ! 

TED.  Now,  I'm  the  young  squire,  and  Sier 
ra  is  my  sweetheart.  ( They  go  back,  come  down 
smiling  and  bowing  to  imaginary  chorus.} 

TED.  Thanks  for  your  hearty  welcome,  my 
honest  friends.  I'm  rejoiced  to  be  among 
you  again.  It's  a  pity  my  father  is  not  alive 
to  see  this  day  ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  were, 
I  could  not  decently  inherit  the  estate.  It's 
a  poor  heart  that  never  rejoices  ;  so  enjoy 
yourselves.  There's  a  roasted  ox  in  the  fore 
ground,  and  unlimited  beer  and  skittles  in 
the  background.  Kindly  take  yourselves  off, 
and  leave  me  to  propose  to  Lady  Clare. 
(  Waves  his  hand.  Exit  chorus.) 

SIERRA.  Dear  Alphonse,  come  and  sit  un 
der  the  shade  of  this  noble  tree,  where  the 
lime-light  will  reach  us,  and  tell  me  about 
your  travels. 

TED  (leading  her  to  chair).  Darling  Clare, 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  55 

the  lime-light  is  full  upon  us,  the  music  is 
softly  throbbing,  the  time  and  the  hour  are 
here,  and  I  am  man  enough  to  do  my  -duty. 
I  love  you,  darling.  Will  you  be  the  young 
squire's  bride  ? 

SIERRA.  I  have  always  adored  you. 

TED.  Thanks.  I  thought  you  did.  I  will 
now  leave  you  to  your  inevitable  soliloquy. 
(Exit  R.) 

SIERRA  (theatrically  clas})inff  her  hands). 
He  loves  me  !  Happy  girl !  But  no,  I  feel 
a  sudden  thrill.  Such  happiness  cannot  last. 
Ah !  here  comes  the  wicked  cousin.  Why 
does  he  so  darksomely  pursue  me  ? 

(Enter  TED,  his  coat -collar  turned  up;  high 
hat  on.) 

TED.  At  last!  (Springs  to  SIERRA  ;  grasps 
her  by  the  arm.}  Listen,  girl !  I  love  you ! 
Nay,  start  not !  I've  just  murdered  your  un 
cle.  Near  his  rigid  form  I  dropped  a  hand 
kerchief,  a  collar-button,  an  overcoat,  and 
other  articles  of  wearing  apparel,  marked  with 
the  name  of  my  puling  cousin,  your  lover. 

SIERRA  (falling  on  her  knees).  Cruel  man ! 
Let  me  fly  to  remove  them  ! 


56  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

TED.  Not  so,  unless  you  marry  me.  In 
that  case  you  may.  Thwart  me,  and  I  accuse 
him  before  the  whole  village.  I  love  you 
darkly,  desperately,  madly ! 

SIERRA.  Oh,  this  is  fearful !  But  know, 
proud  ruffian,  that  not  to  save  my  darling's 
life  would  I  consent  to  tell  a  lie.  I  defy  you ! 

CHAUNCEY  (applauding').  Hooray!  Good 
for  you  !  I  am  the  gallery,  Miss  Bengaline. 

SIERRA.  Thanks. 

TED.  Now  all  the  characters  are  on  the 
stage  ;  I  am  still  the  villain.  Ah  !  defy  me  ? 
Ho,  everybody  !  This  wretch,  my  cousin,  has 
murdered  his  benefactor  in  cold  blood.  By 
his  victim's  corpse  you  will  find  the  evidence. 

SIERRA.  Now  I  faint. 

TED.  Yes,  in  my  arms.  And  the  curtain 
falls  on  a  grand  tableau.  (SIERRA  falls  into 
his  arms.)  Now,  what  is  the  word  ? 

MRS.  O.  (enters  c.).  The  word  is  disgusting, 
atrocious ! 

SIERRA  (springs  away  from  TED).  Aunt ! 

TED.  Now  for  it. 

MRS.  O.  Whuttlesay,  retire.  Sierra,  are 
you  crazy  ?  Lady  Guinevere,  what  must  you 
think  ? 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  57 

LADY  G.  I  think  it's  lovely. 

CHAUNCEY.  Yes.  But  what  was  the 
word  ? 

SIERRA.  Aunt,  you  don't  understand ;  it 
was  a  charade. 

MRS.  O.  (sinking  into  a  chair).  Charades 
with  a  butler  !  Whuttlesay,  leave  the  room. 

SIERRA.  Do  go,  Ted. 

TED.  No,  Sierra  ;  I  will  not. 

MRS.  O.   He  calls  her  Sierra  ! 

CHAUNCEY.  What  a  jolly  row  ! 

TED.  My  name  is  not  Whuttlesay,  Mrs. 
Ondego-Jhones,  nor  am  I-trbqtler. 

SIERRA  (shutting  her  eyes).  ItVcoming. 

TED.  My  name  is  Edward  Ralsto^,  and  you 
must  not  blame  Sierra.  The  misapprehension 
arose  from  a  perhaps  not  unnatural  mistake  on 
your  part. 

SIERRA.  It's  all  my  fault.  Don't  blame 
Ted,  aunt. 

MRS.  0.  Edward  Ralston!  How  could  I 
have  been  so  stupid?  Sierra,  you  need  not 
bristle  up.  I  am  charmed  indeed  to  meet  Mr. 
Ralston.  (Shakes  TED'S  hand.) 

TED  (bewildered).  You're  very  good. 

SIERRA.  She  must  be  delirious. 


58  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

TED.  You  did  say  you  were  charmed  to 
meet  me  ? 

MRS.  0.  Yes  ;  and  I  meant  it.  Sierra's 
father  has  withdrawn  his  opposition,  which 
was  only  based  on  pecuniary  grounds,  you 
know,  and  which  vanish  now  your  circum 
stances  are  altered  so  wonderfully. 

TED.  Who  altered  them  ?  What  are  they  ? 
Oh,  somebody  is  crazy  ! 

SIERRA.  What  do  you  mean,  aunt  ? 

MRS.  O.  Is  it  possible ?  Yes;  I  see.  Well, 
let  me  be  the  one  to  announce  the  news.  As 
I  went  out,  the  postman  handed  me  this  letter 
(holds  up  letter)  from  Mr.  Bengalirie.  Come 
around  me,  young  people,  and  I  will  read  it. 

(CHAUNCEY  and  LADY  G.  stand  L.  of  MRS.  0. ; 
TEP  and  SIERRA  R.) 

MRS.  0.  (opening  letter).  "  I've  just  sold  20,- 
000  head  of  long-horned  " —  No,  that's  not  it. 

ALL.  Go  on. 

MRS.  0,  "The  Republican  triumph" — um 
— "present  state  of  the  tariff" — er —  Ah! 
here  it  is. 

ALL.  Yes ;  do  go  on. 

MRS.  0.  "  The  sudden  find  of  a  new  lead 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  59 

in  the  Sierra  Gold-mine,  owned  jointly  by 
Edward  Ralston  and  Chauncey  Oglethorpe  " — 

TED.  Gold  at  last ! 

CHAUNCEY.  Jove  !  it  has  panned  out ! 

MRS.  0.  (smiling).  Wait !  (Reads.)  "Has 
produced  a  state  of  excitement  in  the  country 
which  has  not  been  equalled  since  '49.  The 
superintendent  has  sent  to  San  Francisco  for 
more  machinery,  and  telegraphed  the  lucky 
partners  to  come  home.  Speculators  have 
already  bid  $600,000  for  the  mine.  There  is 
not  an  inch  of  ground  for  sale  near  the  Sierra, 
and  the  excitement  is  intense." 

TED.  Hooray!  We're  millionaires!  Sier 
ra,  you're  my  mascot ! 

CHAUNCEY.  This  will  fetch  your  mother, 
Guinevere. 

MRS.  O.  Wait!  (Reads.)  " Of  course,  now 
I  will  not  oppose  Sierra's  engagement,  as  Ral 
ston  is  a  delightful  young  fellow."  Now,  my 
dears,  isn't  this  a  romance  ? 

SIERRA  (kissing  her).  Oh,  aunt,  I'm  so  happy. 

TED.  Yes,  aunt,  we're  so  happy !  I'll  run 
on  to-night,  get  things  in  working  order,  re 
turn  in  four  weeks,  and  then  for  a  wedding. 
Eh,  Sierra  ? 


60  A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS. 

SIERRA.  Oh,  Ted,  we  mustn't  be  rash ! 
We'll  wait  a  long,  long  time — say  Jive  weoks. 
(They  retire  up.) 

MRS.  O.  (rising).  Mr.  Oglethorper  I  congrat 
ulate  you  heartily. 

CHAUNCEY.  Thanks.  1  shall  go  on  with 
Ralston,  return  with  him,  be  married  on  the 
same  day — 

LADY  G.  You  forget  mamma. 

MRS.  O.  My  dear,  your  mamma  can  have 
no  reasonable  objection  to  a  son-in-law  worth 
at  least  half  a  million. 

SIERRA  (coming  forward).  Then  you  for 
give  us,  aunt  ? 

MRS.  O.  I  saw  through  the  whole  thing 
from  the  first,  you  foolish  children.  Ah  !  you 
need  not  look  incredulous.  Two  can  play  at 
deception. 

LADY  G.  (to  CHAUNCEY).  What  a  tarradid- 
dle  !  She  was  furious  over  that  charade. 

CHAUNCEY.  I  should  say  so.  By-the-way, 
Ted,  what  was  that  wonderful  word  of  yours? 

TED.  Why,  Melodrama  ? 

MRS.  0.  Melodrama?  Very  clever,  too,  if 
I  can  judge  by  the  little  I  saw. 

SIERRA.  Yes,  I  thought  you  seemed  pleased. 


A    BOX    OF    MONKEYS.  61 

MRS.  0.  I  was.  And  how  very  appropriate, 
as  our  little  drama  ends  in  the  good  old-fash 
ioned  melodramatic  style — all  the  lovers  unit 
ed,  everybody  rich,  and  the  hard-hearted  guar 
dian  bestowing  her  blessing  thus  (Jwlds  out  her 
hands),  so  as  to  make  a  good  curtain  picture. 

MRS.  O.,  c. 
CHAUNCEY.     LADY  G.        TED.     SIERRA. 

QUICK    CURTAIN. 


THE  JACK  TEUST. 


CHARACTERS. 

LORD  JACK  TOWNLEY  .  . .  The  Trust,  who  thinks  himself 

irresistible. 

JENNIE  PATIE Who  quite  agrees  with  him. 

CLORINDA  DE  CODRCEY A  humorist  in  petticoats. 

EULA  OTIS A  relic  of  "  befo1  de  wah." 

OLD  MRS.  BOOTHBY  .  .  .  Whose  actions  speak  louder  than 

words. 
MARIA Up  to  snuff!  yes,  ma'am  ;   that's  what ! 


THE  JACK  TRUST. 


ACT  I. 

Parlor  in  Green  Spring  Hotel.  Table,  with 
register  and  writing  materials,  right  centre. 
Large  screen,  right.  Chairs,  centre.  Sofa, 
chairs,  and  table,  left.  Mirror,  left.  Pict 
ures,  etc.  Entrances,  centre  and  left. 

(Curtain  rises  on  MARIA  arranging  parlor.) 

MARIA  (dusting  and  arranging  furniture). 
My  lawsey  me !  "  There's  no  fool  like  an  old 
fool,"  and  Miss  Eula,  she's  set  out  ter  prove 
it.  I  b'lieve  if  Lord  Jack,  he  was  ter  say, 
"  Here,  you  !  black  my  boots !"  Miss  Eula, 
she'd  take  and  do  'em.  And  all  'cause  he's 
an  English  lord  —  jus'  the  same  ornary  sort 
that  our  grandsires  fit  and  fought  and  bled 
and  died  ter  get  the  country  quit  of.  And 
it's  plumb  scan'alous,  fur  she's  a  good  forty, 


66  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

and  lie  only  twenty,  though  he  orders  folks 
roim'  like  he  was  risin'  ninety.  (Strikes  atti 
tude.)  If  any  man  was  ter  do  me  like  he 
does  Miss  Eula,  I'd  set  the  door  open  wide, 
and  I'd  say  that  yeah  is  the  openin'  the  car 
penter  made  fur  you-uns.  Yes,  ma'am  ;  that's 

what ! 

(Enter  EULA,  L.  E.) 

EULA.  Fo'  gracious  sakes  !  Not  done  yet, 
and  the  train  due  in  ten  minutes,  perchance 
bringing  a  dozen  guests  !  I  declare  I've  nary 
bit  of  use  for  you  in  the  world  !  You're  jus' 
reg'lar  no  'count,  po'  ornary  white  trash. 

MARIA.  Me  ?     Po'  ornary  white  trash  ! 

EULA.  Yes,  you.  Give  me  the  duster — 
though  it's  enough  to  make  my  po'  father 
turn  in  his  grave  for  me  to  do  servant's  work. 
Give  me  the  duster  ! 

MARIA.  Take  it,  and  keep  it.  I'm  a  Vir 
ginia  Piclven,  I  am,  an'  your  father  couldn't 
turn  no  fas'er  than  mine  in  his  grave  if  he 
could  see  me  livin'  out  for  wages.  Yes, 
ma'am.  An'  before  the  wah  the  Pickens  had 
mo'  servants  an'  mo'  horses  an'  mo'  whiskey 
than  the  Otises  ever  dreamed  of.  Yes,  ma'am ; 
that's  what !  (Flings  herself  on  sofa ;  sobs.) 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  67 

EULA.  Fo'  gracious  sakes  !  Quit  crying, 
you  foolish  gyurl ! 

MARIA.  You've  done  hurt  my  feelin's,  an' 
— an' — I'm  g-goin'. 

EULA.  Going  ?  And  the  train  due  ?  Oh, 
Maria. 

MARIA.  I  ain't  carin'  'bout  trains.  I'm 
goin'. 

EULA.  Oh,  Maria!  (Goes  to  sofa ;  sits  beside 
her.)  Think  of  dear  Lord  Jack  !  He  says 
no  one  can  make  his  mint-juleps  like  you 
can.  Think  of  me,  mos'  'stracted  with  that 
no  'count  cook  in  the  kitchen.  Of  co'se  I 
respec'  your  fam'ly  same  as  my  own ;  and  if 
you'll  only  stay,  I'll  give  you  the  pink  silk 
dress  I  wore  before  the  fall  of  Richmond. 
There  ! 

MARIA  (jumping  up).  The  pink  silk  with 
the  white  lace  bertha?  Miss  Enla,  I  'cept 
yo'r  apology.  Give  me  the  duster,  an'  I  re 
sume  my  duties. 

EULA.  No,  no.  I'll  help.  Jus'  wipe  off 
that  window.  The  train  might  bring  a  score 
of  guests. 

MARIA.  Yes'm,  it  might;  but  I  s'pec'  it 
won't. 


68  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

EULA.  Have  you  seen  dear  Lord  Jack  lately  ? 

MARIA.  Yes'm.  He's  lyin'  in  the  ham 
mock,  drinking  mint-julep  and  smoking  cig 
arettes,  like  he  always  is. 

EULA.  Dear  fellow  !  I  s'pec'  he's  thinking 
about  his  book  on  America. 

MARIA.  His  book  on  America !  He  'ain't 
got  sense  enough  ter  write  a  scrap-book. 
Yes,  ma'am  ;  that's  what ! 

EULA.  He  has  a  vast  and  lofty  intellec' — 
What  are  you  staring  at  ? 

MARIA.  An  ole  piny-woods  woman  in  the 
mos'  survigerous  sun-bonnet  I  ever  see. 

EULA.  Where's  she  goin'  at  ? 

MARIA.  She's  comin'  in  here. 

EULA.  I  reckon  she's  selling  something. 

(Enter  MRS.  BOOTHBY,  c.  E.  She  wears  a  gos 
samer  circular,  a  sun-bonnet  tied  closely  over 
her  face,  carries  small  basket  on  her  arm. 
Advancing,  holds  out  her  slate  to  EULA,  L.) 

EULA.  No,  I  don't  want  any.  Never  use 
them.  (MRS.  B.  pokes  slate  at  her.)  No,  I  tell 
you ! 

MARIA  (coming  to  c.).  No !  she  tells  you. 

EULA.  She  must  be  deaf. 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  69 

MARIA.  There's  writin'  on  the  state. 

(MRS.   B,  waves  slate    to    EULA.      Points    to 
writing.) 

EULA.  (takes  slate — MARIA  looks  over  her 
shoulder — reads).  "  My  name  is  Mrs.  Boothby. 
I  am  deaf  and  dumb.  I  want  to  board  here." 
Board  here  !  Would  you  take  her,  Maria  ? 

MARIA.  Well,  she  couldn't  complain  much  ; 
but  I'd  make  her  pay  in  advance.  I  never 
heard  of  a  piny-woods  woman  stopping  at  a 
hotel. 

EULA.  Nor  I  either.  (  Writes.)  My  terms 
are  one  dollar  a  day  in  advance. 

(Gives  slate    to    MRS.  B.     MRS.  B.   takes  it. 
Writes.     Gives  it  back  to  EULA  with  a  bill.) 

EULA  (reads).  "The  terms  suit.  Here  is 
two  days  in  advance.  I  sha'n't  be  any  trouble. 
All  I  want  is  to  be  let  alone.  It  amuses  me 
to  watch  folks ;  and  as  I  can't  hear  what  is 
said,  or  tell  what  I  see,  nobody  minds  old 
Mrs.  Boothby." 

MARIA.  Pore  ole  soul !  Ask  her  ter  lay  off 
her  bonnet  an'  come  up-stairs ;  I  want  ter  see 
her  face. 


70  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

EULA.  Won't  you—  Oh!  I  forgot.  (Writes.) 
Won't  you  take  off  your  bonnet  and  go  to 
your  room  ? 

(Gives  slate  to  MRS.  B.,  who  writes  ;  hands  it 
back.) 

EULA  (reads).  "  I  never  take  off  my  bonnet 
on  account  of  neuralgy  in  my  jaw,  and  stairs 
tire  my  legs.  I  am  eighty-six  years  old,  and 
don't  want  to  be  bothered." 

MARIA.  Mighty  spry  ole  woman  for  eighty- 
six.  Writes  like  she  was  a  girl. 

EULA.  She's  got  a  will  of  her  own,  I  reckon. 
But  I  don't  want  to  bother  her. 

(MRS.  B.  goes  to  sofa  ;  draws  up  table  ;  takes 
cards  from  her  pocket ;  plays  solitaire.) 

MARIA.  Lawsey  me  !  Watch  her  play  in' 
kyards  with  one  foot  in  the  grave ! 

EULA.  It's  her  foot,  I  reckon,  and  none  of 
our  business.  Jus'  set  things  to  rights  while 
I  rub  the  mirror. 

(Goes  to  glass  ;  looks  at  herself ;  MARIA  dusts 
chairs,  etc.) 

EULA.  Two  more  gray  hairs,  and  the  crow's- 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  71 

feet  deepening  every  day !  Ah  me !  And  yet, 
as  dear  Lord  Jack  says,  is  not  the  rich  tint  of 
autumnal  beauty  preferable  to  the  glaring  cal- 
lovvness  of  spring?  Maria,  what  do  you  think, 
Lord  Jack  thought  I  was  only  twenty-nine  ! 

MARIA.  He  mus'  be  a  born —  Has  he  paid 
his  board  bill  yet? 

EULA.  His  remittances  have  not  yet  arrived. 

MARIA.  That  explains  it.  He's  trying  to 
use  soft  soap  instead  of  hard  cash. 

EULA.  Your  levity  is  misplaced.  His  lord 
ship  has  discretion.  He  detests  gyurls,  and 
is  at  this  moment  hiding  from  two  bold,  for 
ward  chits,  who  engaged  themselves  to  him 
much  against  his  will,  and  may  at  any  mo 
ment  arrive  here. 

MARIA.  Crickey  !     Both  together  ? 

EULA.  I  dare  say.  Lord  Jack  met  one  at 
Marietta,  and  the  other  at  Stone  Mountain.. 
And  both  fairly  persecuted  him  into  hiding 
here. 

MARIA.  Then  how  do  they  know  where  he's 
at? 

EULA  (taking  paper  from  her  pocket}.  By 
means  of  this  vile  paper.  (Reads.)  "  Lord 
Jack  Townley,  eldest  son  of  the  Duke  of 


72  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

Grabshire,  is  drinking  the  waters  at  Green 
Springs.  N.  B. — Rumor  says  his  lordship  is 
to  marry  one  of  the  fairest  daughters  of  that 
lovely  resort  very  shortly."  There  ! 

(MRS.  B.  gives  a  hoarse  chuckle;  pounds  table; 
MARIA  and  EvLAJu?np.) 

MARIA.  What  a  queer  old  creature  ! 

EULA.  Never  mind  her.  His  lordship  says 
the  instant  those  horrid  gyurls  read  that  par 
agraph  they  will  rush  here  to  drag  him  away. 
And  he  hates  them — hates  every  woman,  ex 
cept — me. 

(Simpers.     MRS.  B.  chuckles  again.) 

MARIA.  You?  Well,  I'm  plumb  cata- 
wumped  ? 

EULA  (with  dignity).  I  am  not  a  foolish 
gyurl— 

MARIA.  No,  ma'am.     You're  some  older. 

EULA.  Of  co'se!  And,  as  Lord  Jack  says, 
what  is  there  that  does  not  improve  with 
age? 

MARIA.  He  mus'  be  a  born  fool.  Why, 
there's  shoes,  an'  teeth,  an'  hair,  an'  women, 
an'  mules — 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  73 

EULA.  You  are  impertinent.  His  lordship 
says  a  school-gyurl  is  as  unpalatable  to  a  cul 
tivated  taste  as  this  year's  claret.  And  wom 
en,  like  cheese,  grow  mellow  with  age. 

MARIA.  He  mus'  be  teched  in  his  head. 

EULA  (haughtily}.  We  will  not  discuss  this 
any  mo'.  The  names  of  these  crude  atroci 
ties  are  Clorinda  de  Courcey  and  Jennie 
Patie.  Both  are,  of  course,  young  and  un 
ripe.  If  either  of  them  arrives  to-day,  you 
must  deny  that  Lord  Jack  is,  has,  or  will  be 
here.  Be  cautious  and —  (Bell  rings.} 

MARIA.  Lawsey  me  !  the  train  ! 

EULA.  And  Lord  Jack  in  the  gyarden  asleep 
and  unprotected.  Fly  to  warn  him,  Maria, 
while  I  run  to  see  who  has  come. 

(Exit  c.  MARIA  exit  L.,  running.  MRS.  Tt.goes 
to  both  entrances ;  looks  out  ;  comes  down 
front;  laughs.  Removing  bonnet  and  cloak, 
shows  a  young  and  pretty  woman,  hand 
somely  dressed.  Runs  again  to  entrances. 
Returning,  takes  calico  dress  from  basket, 
made  very  plainly,  with  straight  skirt  and 
full  waist.  Puts  it  on  over  her  own  gown. 
Business  of  fearing  discovery.  Rolls  cloak 


74  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

up  j  lays  it  in  basket ;  ties  her  sun-bon 
net  closely  over  her  face.  Retires  behind 
screen,  R.) 

(Enter  CLORINDA  DE  COURCEY,  in  handsome 
street  dress.) 

CLO.  Well,  I'm  rattled,  and  running  after  a 
man  is  enough  to  rattle  any  girl ;  that  is,  if 
she  isn't  used  to  it.  Mamma  generally  cor 
rals  the  men,  and  I  lasso  them.  But  here  I 
must  act  alone.  (Sits  by  table,  R.  ;  fans  her 
self;  laughs.)  What  a  delightful,  sneaky  ex 
hilaration  a  lark  gives  one  !  I  don't  wonder 
men  like  them.  When  I  think  of  mamma's 
face,  if  she  could  know  where  I  am,  my  spine 
turns  to  ice ;  and  when  I  think  of  Lord  Jack 
cowering  under  my  spiked  sarcasms,  I'm  fit 
to  die  of  laughing.  How  pleased  he  will 
be,  dear  boy,  don't  yer  know  !  He'll  find  he 
can't  offer  me  the  devotion  of  a  lifetime 
for  five  weeks,  and  skip  the  morning  after 
I  accept  him,  without  paying  the  penalty. 
I  only  accepted  him  to  spite  the  other  girls, 
and  wouldn't  take  him  as  a  gift  now.  All 
the  same,  during  the  two  hours  I  have  here 
before  my  train  goes  back  to  Atlanta  I  mean 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  75 

to  frighten  his  lordship  into  a  fit.  Clorinda 
de  Courcey  isn't  to  be  trifled  with  in  that 
style.  Meantime,  I  suppose,  my  dear  Jack 
is  sitting  in  an  arbor  somewhere,  spooning 
on  that  fair  daughter  of  Green  Springs  the 
paper  spoke  of.  (Rises;  walks  about.)  This 
is  a  peculiar  hotel ;  not  a  soul  about.  By- 
the-bye,  I  must  be  careful  not  to  give  my 
name  to  these  people.  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  a 
man !  Then  I  could  walk  boldly  in  and  ask 
for  Jack.  But  if  I  were  a  man,  Jack  wouldn't 
have  proposed  to  me.  Things  are  equalized 
very  nicely,  after  all.  Ah,  here  comes  a  girl. 

(Enter  MARIA,  out  of  breath,  L.  E.) 

MARIA.  Oh  !  Excuse  me,  ma'am,  but  what 
is  your  name  1  (Goes  to  table,  R.) 

CLO.  Clo — er — that  is —  What  a  funny 
question  ! 

MARIA  (aside).  It's  one  of  'em.  (Aloud.) 
Not  at  all.  Guests  always  register  on  arriv 
ing.  ( Opens  register.) 

CLO.  So  they  do.  Well,  then,  my  name  is 
Norval — Mrs.  Norval.  ( Crosses  to  table,  R.  ; 
writes.)  Mrs.  R.  S.  Norval. 

MARIA.  Where  from  ? 


76  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

CLO.  The  Grampian  Hills.  That  is  (writes), 
Peoria — cr — California.  Is  that  sufficient  ? 

MARIA  (aside).  It  ain't  one  of  'em.  (Aloud.) 
Will  you  go  to  your  room  now,  ma'am  ? 

CLO.  My  room !  Well,  yes.  By-the-bye, 
are  there  many  people  here  now  ? 

MARIA.  Lawsey  me,  no  !  What  an  idea ! 
There's  no  one  here  now,  never  has  been, 
and  never  will —  (Aside.)  What  am  I  say 
ing? 

CLO.  (aside).  She's  lying.  (Aloud.)  That 
is  a  peculiar  statement.  Come,  now ;  there 
is  a  young  man  here,  isn't  there? 

MARIA.  Nary  a  man — at  least — no,  there 
ain't. 

CLO.  (aside).  I  know  she  is  lying.  I'll 
pump  her.  (Aloud.)  Very  good.  Show 
me  my  room. 

(Uxit,  c.  E.,  followed  by  MARIA.  Mrs.  B. 
comes  from  behind  screen;  goes  to  door; 
looks  after  them;  exits  c.  E.  Enter  JEN 
NIE  PATIE,  L.  E.) 

JEN.  (looks  timidly  around).  Oh  dear  !  No 
one  here.  How  nice  !  (Takes  paper  from  her 
pocket ;  reads.)  "  Lord  Jack  Townley,  eldest 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  77 

son  of  the  Duke  of  Grabshire,  is  drinking 
the  waters  at  Green  Springs."  Yes,  it  is  the 
place,  and  I  suppose  Jack  is  somewhere 
about,  making  love  to  that  horrid  "fair 
daughter"  this  nasty  paper  speaks  of.  I 
just  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  Jack  is  very 
perfidious,  but  it  was  only  three  weeks  ago 
that  he  ran  away  from  Stone  Mountain,  the 
day  after  he  proposed  to  me,  and  he  couldn't 
be  engaged  to  any  one  in  so  short  a  time. 
Oh,  dear !  I  wish  he  would  happen  in. 

(Enter  MARIA,  c.  E.) 

MARIA  (aside).  I  b'lieve  it's  one  of  'em. 
(Aloud.)  Excuse  me,  ma'am,  but  what  might 
your  name  be  ? 

JEN.  It  might  be  Jones,  but  it  isn't.  Why 
do  you  ask  ? 

MARIA.  It's  so  you  can  register.  (Hands 
her  pen.) 

JEN.  Why,  let  me  see.  (Sits  by  table; 
sucks  pen;  looking  at  MARIA,  who  eyes  her 
suspiciously.)  Oh,  how  funny !  Who  is 
this  Mrs.  R.  S.  Norval,  from  Peoria,  Califor 
nia  ?  I  never  knew  Peoria  was  there. 

MARIA.  Mrs.  Norval.     She's  jus'  come.     I 


THE    JACK    TRUST. 


reckon  she's  a  play-actress.  Leastways  she 
was  racing  up  and  down  like  you  was,  when  I 
first  set  eyes  on  her.  Are  you  a  play-actress, 
ma'am  ? 

JEN.  Not  exactly.  (Aside.)  An  excellent 
idea!  (Aloud.)  I'm  a  prima-donna. 

MARIA.  What's  that  yeah  ? 

JEN.  I  sing — in  opera,  you  know — on  the 
stage.  And  my  name  is  Capiani  (writes) — 
Julietta  Capiani. 

(Enter  CLORINDA,  L.  E.) 

CLO.  The  girl  who  came. on  the  train  with 
me ! 

MARIA.  Mrs.  Norval,  let  me  make  you  ac 
quainted  with  Miss  Julietta  Capiani.  Miss 
Capiani,  this  is  Mrs.  Norval,  the  play-actress. 
(Both  bow.) 

CLO.  (haughtily).  Pray  who  told  you  I  was 
an  actress  ? 

MARIA.  Lawsey  me  !  I  guessed  it.  Ain't 
you? 

CLO.  (aside).  What  a  jolly  notion  !  (Aloud.) 
I'm  not  exactly  an  actress ;  I'm  a  dancer — a 
skirt  dancer.  (Sits  c.) 

JEN.  (aside).  How  disgusting ! 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  79 

MARIA.  I  don't  see  any  difference.  Any 
way,  I've  got  ter  see  after  dinner.  (Exit  L.) 

CLO.  You  have  not  at  all  the  professional 
air,  Miss  Capiani. 

JEN.  And  you're  not  a  bit  Like  one's  idea 
of  a  dancer. 

CLO.  I'm  not  an  ordinary  dancer,  you  know. 

JEN.  Oh  !  one  can  see  that.  But  don't  you 
find  it  very  wearing  on  the — er — that  is — well, 
your  ankles,  you  know  ?  I  read  that  Carmen- 
cita  practised  nine  hours  a  day.  Do  you  ? 

CLO.  (fanning  herself).  Of  course.  (Aside.) 
Thanks  for  the  hint. 

JEN.  (leaning  forward).  Then,  except  when 
you  are  asleep — deducting  three  hours  for 
meals — you  must  dance,  and  kick,  and  stand 
on  one  toe  all  day. 

CLO.  That  is  the  exact  state  of  the  case. 
You  see,  in  a  profession  like  mine,  the  mus 
cles  must  be  kept  very,  very  flexible. 

JEN.  Fancy !  Well,  don't  let  me  hinder 
you  from  practising.  (Aside.)  I'm  dying  to 
see  her  !  (Aloud.)  Pray  go  on. 

CLO.  Thanks;  I  will.  (Rising;  comes  down 
L.  F.  Aside.)  I've  been  just  a  trifle  too 
clever.  Why  didn't  I  say  I  was  a  book 


80  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

agent  ?  However,  here  goes  !  (Dances  mili 
tary  schottische,  talking  over  her  shoulder.} 
Your  work,  in  its  way,  is  as  arduous  as  mine, 
is  it  not,  Miss  Capiani  ? 

JEN.  Just  about;  scales  from  morning  to 
night. 

CLO.  Then  pray  don't  let  me  interrupt. 

JEN.  You  are  very  kind,  Mrs.  Norval. 
(Clears  her  throat.  Aside.)  How  can  I  sing? 
(Aloud.)  How  exquisitely  you  dance !  I 
never  saw  such  grace,  such  ease.  But  you 
don't  kick. 

CLO.  (aside).  Me  kick!  (Aloud.)  Consider 
my  costume.  I  never  kick  except  in  my  room 
or  on  the  stage,  where  kicks  must  be  had. 

JEN.  So  I've  observed. 

CLO.  But  you  are  not  singing. 

JEN.  (nervously).  Please  don't  judge  my 
voice  by  this  specimen.  I've  a  bad  sore  throat. 

CLO.  And  a  doctor's  certificate  in  your 
pocket,  of  course  ;  they  all  do. 

JEN.  Certainly. 

(Sings  and  acts  out,  "  When  love  is  young," 
etc.) 

CLO.  I'm  almost  dead  1 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  81 

(Drops  into  chair,  n.,fans  herself,  and  watches 
JENNIE.) 

JEN.  (coughs  violently  at  end  of  verse,  falls 
into  chair,  R.  c.).  This  is  awful ! 

(Enter  EULA  and  MARIA,  L.  E.) 

MARIA.  Ladies,  Miss  Eula  Otis,  who  keeps 
the  hotel.  Miss  Eula,  this  is  Mrs.  Norval,  the 
dancer,  and  Miss  Capiani,  the  singer.  (All 
bow.)  There  !  Now  you  know  each  other. 

EULA.  Very  happy  to  meet  you,  ladies. 
Of  course  I've  heard  of  you  both  favorably 
through  the  press,  but  since  the  wah  I  go  but 
little  to  gayeties  of  any  kind.  I  assure  you, 
therefore,  it  is  doubly  gratifying  to  welcome 
you  here. 

CLO.  You  are  very  kind,  Miss  Otis.  (Aside.) 
What  a  lib ! 

JEN.  I  didn't  know  my  fame  had  spread  so 
far.  (Aside.)  She's  a  humbug  ! 

MARIA.  Dinner  is  ready,  ladies.  Jus'  step 
out  this  way.  (Exit  c.  E.) 

BOTH  GIRLS.  Thanks.     (Exit  c.  E.) 

EULA  (soliloquizing).  They're  just  two  crude 
gyurls — pink  and  white  and  silly.  Specially 

6 


82  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

the  inarried  one ;  she's  as  undignified  as  the 

other. 

(Enter  MARIA,  c.) 

MARIA.  Lawsey  me  !  Miss  Eula,  watch  you 
standing  here,  an'  the  new  women  waiting 
for  their  dinner,  an'  Lord  Jack  a-clamoring 
for  his ;  an'  ole  Mrs.  Boothby,  she's  jus'  hand 
ed  me  a  note  on  her  slate,  ter  say  she  wa'n't 
a-goin'  ter  eat  along  of  the  folkses,  but  mus' 
have  her  dinner  in  the  parlor — leastwise  a  cup 
of  tea  an'  some  toast ;  an'  here's  a  note  for 
you  from  Lord  Jack.  (Exit  c.) 

EULA.  Dear  boy  !  Where  are  my  glasses  ? 
Ah!  here. 

(Puts  on  eye-glasses  ;  reads  aloud.) 

"  Get  those  two  girls  out  of  the  house  at  once. 
I  saw  them  through  the  balusters  when  they 
went  to  dinner.  They  are  dangerous.  De 
votedly  yours,  Jack." 

(Enter  old  MRS.  B.,  L.  c. ;  sits  on  sofa,  L.  ;  draws 
up  table  ;  plays  solitaire.) 

EULA.  Good  heavens !  What  a  situation ! 
Dangerous,  how  ?  I  must  see  his  lordship  at 
once.  (Exit  c.) 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  83 

(Enter  CLORINDA,  L.     Walks  about,  looking  on 

floor.) 

CLO.  Where  can  I  have  dropped  it?  I 
should  hardly  care  to  have  to  telegraph  to 
mamma  for  the  money  to  get  home  with, 
especially  as  Jack  is  not  here.  What  could 
that  paper  have  meant  by  such  a  farrago  of 
lies  ?  Ah  !  here's  my  purse.  (Picks  it  up  ; 
sees  MRS.  B.)  Gracious !  What  a  figure  of 
fun !  Another  relic  of  "  befo'  the  wah,"  I 
suppose.  But  I  am  losing  my  dinner. 

( Walks  suddenly  to  c.  D.  ;  runs  into  MARIA, 
entering  with  large  tray.  Both  exclaim; 
come  down  front.] 

MARIA.  My  lawsey  me,  Mrs.  Norval !  You 
nearly  made  me  spill  Lord — that  is — this  yeah 
dinner ! 

CLO.  I  thought  you  said  there  were  no  other 
guests  in  the  house  ? 

MARIA.  There  ain't. 

CLO.  Then  who  is  this  for?  The  family 
skeleton  ? 

MARIA.  Crickey  !  It's  for  —  for  ole  Mrs. 
Boothby. 

CLO.  Is  that  she  ?     (Points  to  sofa.) 


84  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

MARIA  (looking  over  shoulder').  Yes,  ma'am. 
She's  eighty-six  years  ole,  deaf  and  dumb, 
hasn't  nary  tooth  in  her  jaw,  an'  always 
wears  her  bonnet  'cause  she  has  neuralgy. 
Mightily  entertaining  ole  lady.  Yes,  ma'am  ; 
that's  what ! 

CLO.  (pensively,  looking  at  tray).  Um !  Not 
a  tooth  in  her  head,  and  yet  fried  chicken,  let 
tuce,  corn  pone,  claret,  cheese,  and  pie.  Ma 
ria,  some  one  has  told  a  lie. 

MARIA.  You've  got  me  catawumpussed,  but 
I  'ain't  told  nary  lie. 

CLO.  (sweetly).  Then  give  the  dear  old  lady 
her  dinner,  Maria. 

MARIA  (banging  tray  down  on  MRS.  B.'s  ta 
ble).  There! 

(MRS.   B.  rises,  throws   tray  on  floor ;    sits; 
goes  on  playing  solitaire.) 

CLO.  Oh,  Maria !  you  might  as  well  own 
up.  Who  is  that  dinner  for  ?  (Laughs.) 

MARIA.  I  never  did  see  such  a  curious  creat 
ure.  (Kneels  on  floor,  picking  up  dishes.) 
Why  can't  you  mind  your  own  business? 
Drat  the  old  thing !  Who?d  have  supposed 
she  had  such  a  temper  ? 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  85 

(Enter  EULA,  c. ;  stands  amazed.) 

EULA.  What  is  all  this?  The  dinner  on 
the  floor,  Mrs.  Norval  laughing,  and  Maria 
scolding!  Maria,  what  is  all  this?  Speak! 
I  insist ! 

MARIA.  Hush ! 

(Points  to  ceiling,  then  to  tray  ;  puts  finger  on 
her  lips  ;  shakes  her  head  at  CLORINDA.) 

EULA.  Oh!  Til  soon  settle  her.  Maria,  go 
and  see  if  the  train  is  on  time. 

MARIA.  Yes,  ma'am.  (Exit,  L.,  carrying 
tray.) 

EULA  (advancing  to  CLORINDA,  R.  c.).  Mrs. 
Norval,  I  regret  to  say  I  cannot  accommodate 
you  overnight. 

CLO.  Indeed !     Why  not  ? 

EULA.  Because  I — I —  Well,  I  don't  want 
any  stage-players  in  my  house. 

(Enter  JENNIE,  c.) 

CLO.  Then  your  objection  applies  to  Miss 
Capiani  ? 

EULA.  Certainly. 

JEN.  (crossing  to  CLORINDA,  R.  c.).  What  is 
the  matter? 


86  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

EULA.  I  object  to  having  such  as  you  in 
my  nice  quiet  little  hotel,  and  you  can't 
stay.  (Crosses  to  L.  ;  stands  by  MRS.  B.) 

CLO.  You're  an  impertinent  old  cat,  and 
I'm  going  as  soon  as  the  train  comes. 

JEN.  So  am  I.  (Aside.)  What  would  mam 
ma  say  ? 

EULA.  Befo'  the  wall  my  pa  was  the  proud 
est  man  in  nine  counties,  and  as  his  daughter, 
you  are  beneath  my  notice.  The  train  is  due 
in  ten  minutes. 

MARIA  (running  in,  L.).  Oh,  Miss  Eula!  Oh 
my !  Lawsey  me  !  A  construction  train  has 
done  jumped  the  track  at  Nickajack  Junction 
and  all  trains  both  ways  have  done  quit 
running  till  to-morrow.  Yes,  ma'am ;  that's 
what ! 

CLO.  No  train  !     That  knocks  me  out. 

JEN.  No  train !     What  will  mamma  say  ? 

EULA.  Then  you'll  have  to  stay.     Oh,  dear  ! 

(LORD  JACK  runs  in,  laughing,  c.) 

JACK.  Well,  you  got  them  off.  (Sees 
girls.)  Oh,  good  Gad!  the  girls!  (Stands 
aghast.) 

JEN.  AND  CLO.  Jack  ! 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  87 

Tableau. 

MRS.  B. 

MARIA.  JACK.  JENNIE. 

EULA.  CLORINDA. 

QUICK  CURTAIN. 


ACT  II. 

• 

(Enter  MARIA,  c.  D.) 

MARIA.  Well,  talk  about  jour  dime  novels! 
If  any  one  of  'em  can  get  ahead  of  the  doings 
in  this  yeah  house,  I'd  like  to  see  'em.  Here's 
Miss  Eula  cracked  over  Lord  Jack  and  'stract- 
ed  with  jealousy  of  them  two  play-actresses, 
an'  them  jealous  of  each  other,  an'  Lord  Jack 
dodgin'  of  all,  an'  ole  Mrs.  Boothby  tagging 
roun'  and  peeping  and  prying,  like  she  was  a 
revenue  raider  after  a  "  blind  tiger."  An'  me 
— lawsey  me !  I  sides  with  'em  all.  Yes, 
ma'am  ;  that's  what ! 

(CLORINDA  dances  in,  L.  D.) 
CLO.  (sinking  into  chair,  R.).  Only  you,  Ma- 


88  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

ria  ?  What  a  relief  !  Do  you  know,  Maria, 
you  are  a  very  pretty  girl  ? 

MARIA.  Me  ?  Crickey  !  What  an  idea  ! 
What  does  you-uns  want  me  ter  do,  Mrs. 
Norval  ? 

CLO.  Oh,  not  much.  Just  to  help  me  out 
in  a  little  joke.  You  see,  I — er — in  fact — 
well,  I  want  to  see  Lord  Jack  alone  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  he  doesn't  at  all  want  to  see  me. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  fancy  you  are  the  only 
woman  in  the  house  he  dares  face. 

MARIA.  Yes'm,  that's  so. 

CLO.  (holding  up  coin).  Now,  you  see  this, 
Maria  ?  This  is  a  lovely  new  gold  dollar,  and 
it's  for  you.  (Gives  it  her.) 

MARIA  (tying  it  in  her  handkerchief).  Oh, 
thank  you,  ma'am. 

CLO.  Now,  Maria,  there's  another  of  those 
pretty  things  in  my  purse,  which  is  yours  the 
first  time  you  manage  to  take  me  to  Lord 
Jack  quietly.  Be  discreet,  and,  above  all, 
do  not  say  a  word  to»  that  cat  of  a  Capiani 
girl. 

MARIA.  Count  on  me,  Mrs.  Norval.  She's 
a  sly-boots.  Yes,  ma'am  ;  that's  what !  An' 
the  way  she  runs  after  that  pore  dear  boy  is 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  89 

jus'  awful.  I'll  go  hunt  him  up  now,  pore 
lamb. 

CLO.  Do.     Well,  why  don't  you  go  ? 

MARIA.  I  'lowed  you  might  be  goin'  ter  do 
your  steps. 

CLO.  (sharply].  I  am  not.     Go  at  once  ! 

MARIA.  Yes'm.     (Exit  c.) 

CLO.  She  "  'lowed  I  might  be  goin'  ter  do 
my  steps!"  They  all  do.  Every  bumpkin 
in  the  county,  having  heard  of  "the  dancin' 
woman  over  ter  Miss  Eula's,"  rides  over  on 
his  mule  to  hang  over  the  fence  and  watch 
me  prance  about  the  garden  like  a  lunatic. 
(Rises ;  walks  about.)  Truly,  it  •  was  clever 
of  me  to  say  I  danced  nine  hours  a  day. 
Every  minute  I  am  in  sight  of  any  one  I  have 
to  skip  like  a  gazelle  with  a  broken  ankle. 
The  chamber-maid  "  'lows  she'd  mightily  like 
ter  see  me  practise" — and  off  I  go  (dances 
across  stage,  humming),  so  until  my  room  is 
made  up.  The  waiter,  gardener,  cook,  Maria, 
Miss  Eula — all  are  possessed  with  a  burning 
desire  to  see  rne  practise.  And  practise  I 
must,  or  own  myself  a  humbug.  (Sinks  into 
chair,  L.)  Oh,  my  quivering  ankles !  Why 
didn't  I  say  I  was  a  book  agent,  or  something 


90  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

sedentary  ?  Meantime  the  train  does  not 
come,  Jack  dodges  about,  and  all  is  gloom 
and  mystery.  Why  did  the  Capiani  cat 
shriek  "  Jack  ?"  Why  is  she  here  ?  I  don't 
believe  she's  a  bit  of  a  prima-donna  any 
more  than  I  am.  Good  gracious !  there's 
that  Boothby  nuisance ! 

(MRS.  B.  enters,  c. ;"  goes  up  to  CLORINDA  ;  gives 
her  slate.) 

CLO.  (reading).  "  Please  oblige  an  afflicted 
old  woman  by  letting  her  see  you  dance." 
Was  there  ever  such  a  torment?  (Writes.) 
With  the  greatest  possible  pleasure. 

(Gives  slate  to  MRS.  B.,  who  reads ;  claps  her 
hands  ;  sits  on  sofa,  L.) 

CLO.  (dancing  jig  or  fancy  dance,  and  talk 
ing).  Ugh !  You  old  tease  !  The  idea  of 
making  a  fool  of  myself  for  you !  If  a 
train  don't  come  soon,  I'll  tell  the  truth. 
Ovv,  I  believe  I've  snapped  a  tendon  !  Oh  ! 
Ah! 

(Sits  suddenly,  R.,  by  table.     MRS.  B.  claps  her 
hands  ;  leans  forward  expectantly.) 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  91 

CLO.  (limps  over  to  her,  smiling  sweetly).  I 
sha'n't  dance  a  bit  more  ;  and  you're  a  cheeky 
old  idiot !  So  there  ! 

(Exit  c.     MRS.  ^.follows  as  JENNIE  enters,  L.) 

JEN.  (hoarsely).  "  When  love  is  young,  all 
the  world  seems  gay.  Tra-la-la-la."  (Looks 
about.')  No  one  here!  (Takes  out  a  lemon ; 
sucks  it.)  Love  can  be  as  young  as  it  likes, 
but  the  world  does  not  seem  gay  if  it  can't  in 
duce  the  other  party  to  come  Avithin  hailing 
distance.  It's  perfectly  shameful  the  way 
Jack  treats  me.  Me,  who  he  swore  was  the 
only  girl  he  had  ever  loved  !  If  I  am,  why  is 
Mrs.  Noval  here  ?  I  heard  her  scream  "Jack!" 
I  did.  And  I  don't  believe  she's  a  dancer.  I 
listened  at  her  door  this  morning  and  there 
wasn't  a  sound.  And  she's  so  hateful.  If  I 
stop  singing  one  instant,  she's  at  my  door 
with  her  everlasting,  "Not  practising,  Miss 
Capiani  ?  How  very  odd  !"  Odd  !  If  a  train 
does  not  come  soon,  my  throat  will  simply 
crack  open. 

(Enter  MARIA,  c.) 
MARIA.  Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Norval,  ma'am? 


92  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

JEN.  (curtly}.  No.  But  I  am  glad  to  see 
you,  Maria,  for  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  great 
favor.  First,  please  accept  tins.  (Gives  her 
money.} 

MARIA.  Oh,  thank  you,  ma'am!  (Ties  it 
in  handkerchief.) 

JEN.  There's  as  much  more  for  you  if  you 
think  you  can  manage  to  quietly  come  and 
tell  me  when  you  find  Lord  Jack  alone.  I 
have  a  sort  of — of  a  bet  with  his  lordship,  so 
he — he — 

MARIA.  Bless  you,  I  understand  (winks).  I 
see  you  running  up  the  gyarden  after  him 
this  morning.  His  coat  tails  jus'  flew  out  like 
he  was — 

JEN.  (hastily).  Never  mind  all  that.  Do 
what  you  have  undertaken,  and,  above  all, 
do  not  breathe  a  word  to  that  odious  Mrs. 
Norval. 

MARIA.  Count  on  me,  ma'am.  She  jus7 
hunts  that  pore  dear  boy.  It's  awful.  I 
wonder  how  she  can  bring  herself  to  do  it. 
I'll  jus'  go  look  for  him  now.  (Exit.} 

JEN.  (sits  by  table,  R.).  What  would  mamma 
say  if  she  could  see  and  hear  me?  Oh,  dear! 
the^e  comes  that  tiresome  Miss  Eula  and  old 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  93 

Mrs.  Boothby.  Now  I  must  keep  up  my  rep 
utation  as  a  self-made  fool.  (Leans  head  de 
jectedly  on  her  hands,  sings  "When  love  is 
young,"  etc.) 

(Enter  EULA  and  MRS.  B.     MRS.  B.  sits  on 
sofa.) 

EULA.  How  exquisite  !  What  finish  !  and 
what  a  fearful  cold  you  seem  to  have,  Miss 
Capiani ! 

JEN.  I  have. 

EULA.  I'm  so  sorry.  Mrs.  Boothby  just 
wrote  on  her  slate  to  say  if  you  didn't  mind 
singing  in  her  ear-trumpet  for  an  hour  or  so, 
she'd  be  mightily  obliged. 

JEN.  But  I  should  mind  exceedingly,  and 
you  may  tell  the  old  nuisance  so,  with  my 
compliments.  (Exit  c.) 

EULA.  There  she  goes  after  Lord  Jack,  I'll 
be  bound.  I  never  saw  such  bold  audacity. 
I  must  fly  to  warn  him.  (Exit  L.) 

(MRS.  B.  crosses .ttage  ;  sits  at  table,  R.  ;  plays 
solitaire.) 

(Enter  LORD  JACK  and  MARIA,  c.) 
JACK.  You  are  sure  I  am  safe,  Maria? 


94  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

MARIA.  Of  co'se.  They're  both  lyin'  down 
up-stairs. 

JACK.  Then  I  can  sit  down  a  minute,  I 
suppose.  (Sits  on  sofa  ;  lights  cigarette.)  Any 
prospect  of  a  train  soon,  Maria,  my  dear  ? 

MARIA.  I  ain't  none  of  your  dears,  Lord 
Jack,  and  there  ain't  nary  prospect  of  a  train 
at  all.  The  rails  is  all  tore  up  both  ways. 
The  ticket  men  says  maybe  there  won't  be 
trains  for  a  week. 

JACK.  A  week !  If  that's  so,  Maria,  you 
can  bet  your  sweet  life  those  "  tore  up  "  rails 
won't  be  a  patch  to  me  if  either  of  those  girls 
finds  me  alone. 

MARIA.  Lawsey  me !  whatever  has  your 
lordship  done  to  'em  ? 

JACK.  Done  !  Nothing.  The  fact  is —  Sit 
down,  Maria,  and  let  me  talk  to  you  a  bit. 
You're  a  deuced  pretty  girl,  and  look  sympa 
thetic.  Can  I  trust  you  ? 

MARIA  (sits  on  sofa  R.  of  JACK).  Of  co'se 
you  can.  (  Winks  at  audience.) 

JACK.  The  fact  is,  I'm  a  badly  used  fellow. 
The  women  simply  drive  me  mad. 

MARIA.  AVhy  don't  you  keep  away  from 
them  ?  (Laughs.) 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  95 

JACK.  Keep  away !  Come,  now.  I  say,  how 
can  I  keep  away  when  they  follow  me  all  over 
the  country  ?  But  we're  'way  off  the  point. 
I  want  to  appeal  to  your  higher  feelings.  You 
have  a  tendency  to  laugh  at  my  misfort 
unes. 

MARIA.  Me  laugh  !     (  Winks  at  audience.) 

JACK.  Yes,  you.  And  it's  not  right.  How 
ever,  I'm  not  angry  at  you.  Here's  a  dollar 
for  you  to  buy  some  ribbon  or  something. 
(Gives  her  money.)  And  now  I  must  speak 
seriously  to  you.  You  must  understand  that 
if  either  of  these  two  girls  finds  me  alone  the 
consequences  will  be  simply  fearful.  There  ! 
you're  laughing. 

MARIA.  Lawseyme!  I  never!  (Winks  at 
audience.]  I'm  jus'  full  of  sympathy  at  the 
way  these  gyurls  do  you. 

JACK  (grasping  her  hand).  Listen !  Isn't 
that  the  swish  of  a  petticoat  outside  ?  Run, 
Maria,  and  see. 

MARIA.  Shucks !  You're  nervous.  Let  go 
my  hand. 

JACK.  Let  me  hold  it.  You  are  my  anchor 
— my— 

MARIA   (jumping  up).  I'm  not  your  any- 


96  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

thing.     Idjits  like  you-uns  can't  hold  prop 
erty.     (Exit,  laughing.} 

JACK  (looking  after  her).  Cold  girl !  But  no 
matter.  Thank  Heaven !  she  is  not  respon 
sive.  Three  responsive  females  in  one  house 
are  enough  for  any  fellow.  There's  Eula — 
poor  old  soul ! — and  Jennie,  and  Clorinda ; 
the  last  two  are  the  most  charming  girls  I 
ever  loved.  It's  all  very  well  to  say  I  need 
not  have  engaged  myself  to  them,  but  how 
could  I  help  it  ?  (Rises  ;  comes  down  F.)  It 
was  moonlight  on  both  occasions ;  I  was  ex 
cited  on  both  occasions ;  so  what  more  natural 
than  to  propose  on  both  occasions  ?  (Sighs.) 
Why,  oh,  why  did  they  accept  me  ?  Why 
should  they  take  my  moonlit  maunderings 
for  earnest,  after  I  had  distinctly — yes,  dis 
tinctly,  by  Jove!  —  expounded  to  them  my 
theory  of  Platonic  friendship,  and  said  I  was 
not  a  marrying  man.  If,  after  that,  they 
chose  to  take  me  seriously,  I  could  only  fly. 
( Walks  about.)  The  idea  of  their  following  ! 
Beastly  ill-bred !  Howling  bad  form,  I  call 
it.  I'll  tell  them  so  pretty  straight  too  if 
they  do  come  near  me.  (Sits  on  sofa  feet  up. 
Sees  old  MRS.  B.)  Ah,  there's  the  ideal  worn- 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  97 

an !  Can't  overhear  anything  or  answer 
back.  Nice,  inexpensive  taste  in  dress.  I 
really  believe  the  poor  old  soul  is  gone  on 
me.  Everywhere  I  go  she  follows.  Gad ! 
I  s'pose  it's  magnetism  that  attracts  the 
women  to  me.  (Lights  cigarette.)  Poor  lit 
tle  beggars!  There's  Maria!  I've  got  her 
on  a  string  too  —  trusting  little  creature! 
( Closes  his  eyes.)  Poor  little  girl !  I  must 
pull  up. 

(Enter  MARIA  and  JENNIE,  c.    MARIA  points  to 
JACK  ;  tiptoes  off,  c). 

JACK.  Is  that  you,  Maria  ? 

JEN.  No  ;  it's  me. 

JACK.  Who's  me?  (Opens  his  eyes;  springs 
up.)  Oh  !  By  Jove  !  I  say — look  here — you 
know —  (Edges  to  door,  L.) 

JEN.  (crossing  to  intercept  him).  You  need 
not  run  away. 

JACK  (devotedly).  Run  from  you  !  Jennie, 
how  could  you  fancy  such  a  thing  ? 

JEN.  How  couldn't  I? 

JACK.   Don't  you  know  you  are  the  only 
girl  I  ever  loved  ?     Be  seated.     (Places  chair 
L.  of  table.) 
7 


98  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

JEN.  (sitting).  It's  no  use,  Jack ;  I  can't 
believe  you. 

JACK  (sitting  on  sofa,  leaning  across  table). 
Let  me  explain. 

JEN.  I  shall  be  most  happy. 

JACK.  Oh,  Jennie,  do  not  look  at  me  so  cold 
ly  !  (Takes  her  hand.)  Dear  little  hand !  Now, 
my  dear  girl — 

JEN.  Let  go  my  hand.  I  am  not  your  dear 
girl.  Don't  dare  to  call  me  so. 

JACK  (tenderly).  Respected  miss — 

JEN.  (laughing).  How  absurd  you  are,  Jack ! 
(Coldly.)  Let  go  my  hand.  I'm  not  at  all 
amused. 

JACK  (releasing  her,  rises ;  walks  about). 
'Twas  ever  thus.  I  never  had  a  dear  gazelle — 

JEN.  I  am  not  at  all  interested  in  your  live 
stock.  Please  proceed  with  your  explana 
tion. 

JACK  (rumpling  his  hair).  Well,  you  see, 
it  was  something  after  this  style.  From  my 
early  infancy  I  have  been  betrothed  to — to — 
the  Lady — er — Editha — er — Cheshire,  a  plain 
girl,  with  a  Roman  nose  and  sandy  ears — I 
mean  hair  —  and  big  ears,  and  all  that,  you 
know.  (Pauses.) 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  99 

JEN.  Well  ? 

JACK.  Her  estate  adjoins  ours,  and  so  the 
family  cooked  up  the  match,  although  she  had 
large  feet,  played  Wagner's  march  from  Lo 
hengrin  on  the  piano,  and  was  a  beastly  tire 
some  girl.  (  Walks  about.)  Tears,  protesta 
tions,  all  were  vain. 

JEN.  Surely  you,  an  Englishman,  did  not 
cry? 

JACK  (wildly).  I  did.  Lady  Editha  would 
unnerve  any  one.  But  it  was  vain.  I  there 
fore  fled  to  America ;  met  you ;  loved  you 
madly ;  wrote  to  my  haughty  father,  implor 
ing  his  consent.  He  wired  back,  "  Will  cut 
off  the  entail  unless  you  leave  that  American 
girl  at  once." 

JEN.  (rushing  to  him).  Oh,  Jack !  I  sec  it 
all.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  all  this  be 
fore? 

JACK  (embracing  her).  Because  I  hadn't 
made  it  up — my  mind,  I  mean.  I  could  not 
ask  you  to  be  a  beggar's  bride.  (They  sit  on 
sofa.) 

JEN.  (fondly).  Love  is  enough. 

JACK.  Yes  ;  but  money  is  a  good  thing 
too.  And  now  I  have  glorious  news.  My 


100  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

father's  gout  is  moving  up,  and  if  all  goes 
well  —  that  is,  if  physicians  are  in  vain  —  I 
shall  be  the  happiest  man  alive,  and  you  the 
Duchess  of  Grabshire,  in  two  weeks. 

(MRS. B.  overturns  table-with  a  crash;  picks  up 
cards;  goes  on  playing.) 

JEN.  Gracious  !  I  didn't  know  she  was 
here. 

JACK.  Never  mind  her.  Tell  me,  are  you 
satisfied  ? 

JEN.  No  !  (Springs  up ;  walks  about.) 
Who  is  this  creeping,  crawling  serpent  of 
a  cat  who  dogs  your  footsteps?  Who  is 
she? 

JACK.  Jupiter!  What  do  you  mean  by 
serpent  of  a  cat,  and  all  that,  Jenuie  ? 

JEN.  I  mean  Mrs.  Norval,  and  you  know 
it. 

JACK.  Shouldn't  have  recognized  the  de 
scription,  give  you  my  word.  And  if  you 
come  to  recriminations,  and  all  that,  what  do 
you  mean  by  calling  yourself  a  prima-donna, 
and  yodling  around  here  like  a — a  calliope, 
without  a  chaperon  ? 

JEN.  It's  not  my  fault  if  the  trains  won't 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  101 

run,  I  only  expected  to  stop  over  two  hours, 
and  see  you. 

JACK.  Exactly.  It  was  most  improper  of 
you  to  come  at  all — so  unwomanly,  so  beast 
ly  untrusting.  Didn't  I  tell  you  you  were  the 
only  girl  I  ever  loved  ? 

JEN.  (sitting  by  table,  L.).  Yes  ;  but  you  ran 
away. 

JACK.  Suppose  I  did.  Or,  rather,  put  it  cor 
rectly,  I  withdrew  my  idea  from  your  con 
sciousness.  Very  good.  Then  was  your  time 
to"  show  your  confidence  in  me,  and  wait  de 
cently  at  home.  Look  at  Evangeline.  She 
always  kept  right  on  trusting  Gabriel. 

JEN.  But  she  went  after  him,  and  she  had 
no  chaperon. 

JACK.  She  took  her  cow,  and  even  a  cow  is 
better  than  nothing.  Besides,  she  was  not  a 
society  girl.  And  I'm  amazed  at  you — amazed, 
by  Jove ! 

JEN.  (sobbing).  Oh,  Jack,  please  don't  scold. 
I'm  sure  I  never  dreamed  of  doing  any  harm, 
and  everything  is  so'  awful.  And  what  would 
mamma  say  ? 

JACK  (going  to  her].  Don't  cry,  my  dear  girl. 
And  go  right  to  your  room,  and — and  lie  down. 


102  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

JEN.  I'd  rather  stay  here  with  you. 

JACK.  And  I  with  yon.  Bnt  the  conven 
tionalities  !  Think  of  your  mother.  As  soon 
as  you  can  return  to  Stone  Mountain,  I  will 
join  you,  and  there,  under  your  mother's  wing, 
we'll  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long. 

JEN.  You'll  surely  come  ? 

JACK.  Can  you  doubt  me  ? 

JEN.  Jack,  forgive  me.  (Exit,  L.,  leaning  on 
JACK'S  arm.) 

(Enter  MARIA,  c.,  laughing.    MRS.  B.  lays  down 
cards,  laughs  heartily.) 

MARIA.  "  Jack,  forgive  me !"  An'  she  hadn't 
done  a  thing.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  (Sinks 
into  chair;  sees  MRS.  B).  Bless  me!  what's 
she  cackling  over?  (MRS.  B.  turns;  sees  MA 
RIA  ;  stops  laughing ;  goes  on  with  her  game.) 
I  s'pose  she's  beat  herself.  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

(Re-enter  JACK,  L. ^fanning  himself.) 

MARIA.  I  shall  give  up. 
JACK  (gloomily).  What  is  the  joke  ? 
MARIA    (jumping   up).    Jus'  a   newspaper 
piece  I  was  studyin'  over,  an'  almos'  died. 
JACK  (sitting  on  chair,  c.).  Indeed  !     Look 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  103 

here,  Maria !  How  did  Miss  Patie  happen  to 
find  me  ? 

MARIA.  Miss  Patie  ?     Who's  she  ? 

JACK.  A  slip  of  the  tongue.  I  meant  Miss 
Capiani.  But  no  matter.  I  want  to  get  up 
to  my  room,  and  Mrs. .  Norval  is  whisking 
about  the  hall.  Go  and  see  if  the  coast  is 
clear,  and  no  funny  business  this  time,  Ma 
ria. 

MARIA.  Funny  business  !  Lawsey  me  !  I 
couldn't  help  Miss  Capiani  findin'  you.  And 
you've  hurt  my  feelin's.  Yes,  sir ;  that's 
what !  (Exit  c.) 

JACK.  A  very  pretty  situation ! — shut  up 
with  two  ex-fiancees  and  a  candidate  for  fian- 
ceeship.  For  all  I  know,  old  Mrs.  Boothby  is 
ready  to  join  the  dance.  Down  that  tunnel 
of  a  sun-bonnet  I  seem  to  see  two  dim  eyes 
saying, "  Jack,  I  love  you."  If  they  only  knew 
who  I  was — but  no,  I  won't  even  whisper  it. 
Flirtation  is  the  spice  of  life. 

(Enter  CLORINDA  suddenly,  c.) 

CLO.  Good-morning,  my  lord. 
JACK  (starting  lack].  It  can't  be !     It  is ! 
(Springs  to  her  ;  takes  hands.)     It  is  my  own 


104  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

Clorinda !  When  did  you  arrive,  and  where 
is  Mrs.  De  Courcey  ? 

CLO.   When  did  I  arrive  ?     I  like  that ! 

JACK.  So  do  I.     It's  no  end  jolly. 

CLO.  Jolly  !  Well,  you  are  a  humbug. 
Let  go  my  hands,  Jack.  (Goes  to  chair,  c.) 

JACK.  You  never  objected  at  Marietta ;  but, 
I  see,  you  are  fickle. 

CLO.  I? 

JACK.  No  matter.  If  I  had  known  you  were 
coming  I  should  have  flown  on  the  wings  of 
love  to  greet  you,  Clorinda,  and  all  that. 

CLO.  Were  you  flying  on  the  wings  of  love 
when  I  so  nearly  caught  you  this  morning  in 
the  garden  ? 

JACK.  You  ?  this  morning  ?  back  garden  ? 
I  don't  understand.  I  did  rather  hurry  to  es 
cape  from  that  odious  Mrs.  Norval,  the  dancer. 

CLO.  (sarcastically).  Then  you  really  did  not 
know  that  I  am  Mrs.  Norval  ? 

JACK.  Married  ?  How  delightful !  And 
where  is  Mr.  Norval  ? 

CLO.  It's  no  use  pretending  ignorance,  Jack. 
I  came  here  intending  to  stop  over  one  train, 
annihilate  you,  and  return  to  Atlanta.  Why 
my  plan  failed,  you  know.  It  was  to  prevent 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  105 

my  name  from  being  known  that  I've  enacted 
the  ballet  girl,  and  you  must  admit  I've  done 
it  well. 

JACK.  I  jolly  well  like  your  idea.  Jupiter  ! 
To  see  you  spinning  about  on  your  little  toes 
all  day,  and  compare  it  with  the  genuine  arti 
cle !  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

CLO.  What  do  you  know  of  the  genuine 
article  ? 

JACK.  That's  so.  Why,  nothing,  except  that 
common-sense  tells  me  they  don't  skip  like 
little  hills  all  day. 

CLO.  I  don't  care.  I  showed  great  pres 
ence  of  mind. 

JACK.  Great !  Only  absence  of  body  would 
have  served  you  better.  Doubtless  you've 
thought  of  your  mother's  opinion  of  this  es 
capade. 

CLO.  Oh  yes. 

JACK.  And  the  giggles  of  the  girls  ? 

CLO.  Certainly. 

JACK.  And  the  winks  and  nods  and  nudges  ? 

CLO.  (calmly).  I've  thought  of  everything. 

JACK.  Well,  I  hope  it  will  be  a  lesson.  In 
my  last  letter  I  told  you  I  was  heart-broken 
by  your  silence. 


106  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

CLO.  Did  you  write  any  letters  ? 

JACK  (sits  by  her).  Stacks.  At  least  two 
letters  a  day.  And  you  never  answered  one. 

CLO.  I  never  received  any. 

JACK.  Oh !  this  ill-regulated  Southern  mail ! 

CLO.  Oh  !  this  ill-regulated  English  male 
you  mean,  don't  you  ?  (Laughs.)  Not  a  bad 
pun  for  a  girl,  was  it  ?  Come,  try  another  tar- 
radiddle ;  you  tell  them  so  well,  so  amus 
ingly. 

JACK.  Amusingly !  Clorinda,  you  are  the 
only  girl  I  ever  loved.  Can  you  doubt  me  ? 

CLO.  I  can,  and  do. 

JACK  (leaning  forward  to  gaze  in  her  eyes). 
Clorinda,  look  into  my  eyes,  and  tell  me  if  I 
look  like  a  man  to  trifle  with  a  fond  and 
trusting  heart. 

CLO.  You  look  like  a  man  who  would  flirt 
with  his  grandmother ;  and  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  trifle  with  my  fond  and  trusting 
heart  when  you  get  it. 

JACK.  You  said  you  gave  it.  me  at  Mari 
etta. 

CLO.  I  dare  say.  But  I  wear  it  on  an  elas 
tic,  and  snapped  it  in  again.  (Laughs.) 

JACK  (rising).  Clorinda,  it's  unfair  to  jump 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  107 

on  me  without  hearing  reason.  My  letters 
explained  all,  if  you  only  had  read  them. 

CLO.  (rising).  Why  riot  tell  me  what  was  in 
them?  As  I  said  before,  your  tarradiddles 
are  so  amusing.  Come,  sit  on  the  sofa.  ( Goes 
to  sofa  with  him  ;  sits  on  table,  L.)  Now,  then, 
you  left  me  in  the  conservatory,  and  flew  to 
pack  your  bag —  Proceed. 

JACK.  Well,  I  went  to  my  room,  and — and — 
I  say,  Clorinda,  might  I  smoke  ? 

CLO.  Certainly. 

JACK  (takes  out  cigarette).  Will  you  light  it 
as  you  used  at  Marietta  ? 

CLO.  Certainly.  (Business  of  lighting  cig 
arette.) 

JACK  (sighs;  sits  on  sofa).  Blessed  be  smok 
ing  !  It's  typical  of  life  too,  isn't  it,  Clorinda  ? 
Nice  things,  dreams,  and  all  that.  Jolly  for 
a  bit,  then  only  ashes  ! 

CLO.  Like  your  engagements,  eh?  But  pro 
ceed.  You  went  to  your  room — 

JACK.  Yes,  I  went  to  my  room,  and —  I 
say,  isn't  this  jolly  ?  You  and  me  together, 
with  old  Mrs.  Boothby  for  chaperon. 

CLO.  It's  simply  lovely;  but  pray  go  on. 
You  found  a  telegram,  doubtless  ? 


108  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

JACK.  That's  it.  I  found  a  telegram  coach 
ed  in  the  most  mysterious  terms  from — from — 

CLO.  Ex-fiancee — girl  you  left  behind  you. 

JACK.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  (MRS.  B.  crosses 
stage.  Exits,  L.) 

CLO.  There  goes  our  chaperon. 

(EuLA,  dressed  exactly  like  MRS.  B.,  enters,  c. ; 
goes  to  table,  R.  ;  sits  down.) 

JACK.  What  a  restless  old  thing  she  is! 
But,  Clorinda — won't  you  believe  me? — you 
are  the  only  girl  I  ever  loved. 

CLO.  Except  Miss  Capiani  and  Miss  Eula. 

JACK.  Poor  old  Eula ;  she's  a  gushing  old 
nuisance ! 

CLO.  What  an  unkind  way  to  speak  of  your 
fiancee !  for  Maria  tells  me  it's  all  settled  be 
tween  you  and  the  evergreen  Eula. 

JACK.  Settled  !  I  wish  it  were — my  board 
bill,  I  mean.  Until  my  remittances  arrive,  I 
have  to  keep  the  old  lady  smoothed  down. 
As  for  anything  else,  why,  she  might  be  my 
grandmother. 

CLO.  Calm  down.  She's  a  charming  an 
tique,  a  flawless  relic  of  "  befo'  de  wah,"  and 
as  such  deserves  a  place  in  your  collection. 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  109 

J ACK  (springing  up).  My  collection !  Clorin- 
da,  why  will  you  make  game  of  me  ? 

CLO.  Game  of  you  !  Impossible  !  Even  in 
America,  where  we  run  the  wary  aniseed  bag 
to  cover,  and  pop  away  at  sparrows — even  here 
we  never  to  try  to  make  game  of —  (Pauses; 
gets  down  from  table.) 

JACK.  Well? 

CLO.  Donkeys,  even  if  they  are  imported. 
(Exit  c.). 

JACK  (running  to  door).  Look  here,  I  say! 
Jove,  what  a  little  vixen  ?  But  I  like  spirit 
in  a  girl.  (Comes  down  front ;  sits  astride  of 
chair,  effacing  audience.) 

(MRS.  B.  enters,  L.  ;  sits  at  table,  L.  ;  same  pose 
as  EULA.) 

JACK.  She  was  all  broken  up.  Well,  I  can't 
help  it  if  I  was  born  fascinating.  I'm  not  a 
self-made  man,  so  there's  no  conceit  in  saying 
so.  It's  hard  on  the  women,  but  that's  not 
my  fault.  (Looks  to  R.  ;  sees  EULA.)  There's 
my  deaf-and-dumb  belle.  Looks  like  the 
figure-head  of  a  ship.  (Looks  to  L.  ;  sees  MRS. 
B.)  How  she  skips  about !  A  minute  ago 
she  was  over  there.  (Looks  R.)  Why,  she's 


110  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

back.  (Looks  L.)  Oh  !  look  here,  you  know. 
I've  got  'em  again.  (Looks  R.)  No ;  there 
are,  there  must  be  two  of  'cm.  (Springs  up; 
business  of  looking  from  R.  to  L.)  Oh,  this  is 
awful !  There  are  two.  (Backs  to  c.  D.  as 
EULA  and  MRS.  B.  advance.) 

EULA.  Flight  will  avail  you  little,  my  lord. 
(Throws  off  bonnet.)  In  this  disguise  I  have 
heard  all.  And  now  my  eyes  are  open.  I 
may  be  a  gushing  old  nuisance,  but  I  know 
my  rights,  and  I'll  trouble  you  to  settle  your 
account  and  leave  my  house. 

JACK.  Eula,  my  darling ! 

EULA.  Oh  yes,  keep  the  old  lady  smoothed 
down  until  your  remittances  arrive.  Back, 
perfidious  man  !  ( Waves  him  off.  MRS.  B. 
imitates  every  gesture.) 

JACK.  But,  look  here.  Since  you  were  here, 
you  must  have  seen  my  fearful  position  be 
tween  those  audacious  girls. 

EULA.  I  couldn't  see  your  face,  but  your 
voice  sounded  like  you  was  enjoying  your 
self  mightily.  (Sobs.) 

JACK  (with  dignity).  Wait.  (Hands  EULA 
to  chair,  L.  MRS.  B.,  R.,  stands  between 
them.) 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  Ill 

JACK.  Now,  then,  let  us  be  cool.  Eula,  you 
are  not  a  green  girl. 

EULA.  No  ;  I'm  a  g-g-gushing  old  nuisance. 
(Sobs.) 

JACK.  Do  not  harp  upon  that.  Let  us  for 
get  all  the  wretched  past,  and  live  in  the 
blooming  present,  and  all  that.  You  are  the 
only  girl — 

EULA.  You  said  that  to  them.     (Sobs.) 

JACK.  Exactly.  You  are  the  only  girl  I 
ever  loved,  I  said  to  each  of  those  bold  girls, 
and  it  was  true,  insomuch  as  I  never  could, 
would,  or  should  love  any  girl  at  all. 

EULA.  I  like  that.     (Sobs.) 

JACK.  I  thought  you  would.  Ah,  Eula, 
you  are  the  only  mature  woman  I  ever  loved. 
You  are  the  realization  of  my  dreams,  and  all 
that.  Be,  oh  !  be  my — 

EULA  (starting  up).  Oh,  my  lord  !  I  will  be 
your  little  wife. 

Clasps  him  fondly  around  his  neck,  L.,  while 
MRS.  B.  embraces  him,  R.) 

JACK.  Look  here  !  I  say  !  I  meant  be  my 
mother.  Oh,  I  say  ! 


112  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

(Enter  MARIA,  CLORINDA,  JENNIE,  L.     Stand 
amazed.") 

MARIA.  He's  done  it  this  time,  sure  'nuff. 

QUICK    CURTAIN. 


ACT   III. 

(Enter  MRS.  B. ;  goes  to  mirror,  arranges  her 
bonnet ;  sits  on  sofa  ;  plays  solitaire.  Enter 
MARIA,  counting  money  ;  comes  down  front ; 
sits.) 

MARIA.  Two  dollars  from  Miss  Capiani  and 
two  from  Mrs.  Norval  is  four,  and  one  from 
Lord  Jack  is  five,  and  Miss  Eula's  pink  silk 
what  she  wore  befo'  the  fall  of  Richmond. 
(Ties  money  in  handkerchief.)  I  'ain't  done 
badly,  an'  I  ain't  a-carin'  now  if  no  trains 
don't  come  at  all.  I  reckon  pore  Lord  Jack 
feels  different,  though.  Mrs.  Norval,  she  'mos' 
died  of  laffing  'cause  he  got  himself  engaged 
to  Miss  Eula ;  but  Miss  Capiani,  she  looked 
mightily  sober-sided.  Yes,  ma'am ;  she's  in 
love  with  him  ;  that's  what ! 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  113 

(Enter  CLORINDA,  c. ;  ivalks  quickly  to  MARIA.) 

CLO.  Maria,  I  want  your  help  in  a  tremen 
dous  joke.  You  have  a  keen  appreciation  of 
satire,  haven't  you  ? 

MARIA  (rising}.  No,  ma'am  ;  I  never  use  it. 

CLO.  Pshaw !  I  mean  you  like  to  see  other 
people  look  silly. 

MARIA  (laughing).  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  ma'am. 

CLO.  Well,  it's  the  same  thing.  First,  this 
is  for  you.  (Gives  her  money.) 

MARIA.  Lawsey  me  !  you're  sure  'nuff  qual 
ity.  Thank  you,  ma'am. 

CLO.  That's  all  right.  Now  I  want  you  to 
manage  to  get  Lord  Jack  behind  this  screen, 
and  when  he's  there,  come  and  tell  me. 

MARIA.  But  s'pose  he  won't  go  ? 

CLO.  Won't  go  !  Get  him  in  here  on  some 
pretence,  then  tell  him  I'm  coming,  and  sug 
gest  the  screen  as  a  hiding-place.  You'll  have 
no  trouble. 

MARIA.  Lawsey  me !  What  a  merry  lady 
you  are,  and  how  you  do  do  that  pore  boy  ! 

CLO.  "That  pore  boy"  needs  a  lesson. 
You'll  find  me  in  the  office.  (Exit,  laughing.) 

MARIA.  Now  what  ever  is  she  goin'  to  do  ? 
8 


114  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

(MRS.  B.  comes  behind  her,  taps  her  on  shoulder, 
points  after  CL  GRIND  A.) 

MARIA.  Crickey !  how  you  scared  me  !  Go 
an'  find  out  for  yourself.  (Gesticulates  vio 
lently.  Exit  MRS.  B.)  There's  a  nice  old 
bunch  of  curiosity — deaf  an'  dumb,  an'  f'rever 
pokin'  an'  pryin'  like  she  was  a  magpie  ;  an'  I 
'ain't  never  seen  her  face  yet. 

(Enter  LORD  JACK,  c.) 

MARIA.  The  very  thing !  Come  here,  your 
lordship. 

JACK.  Don't  bother,  Maria.  You're  pretty, 
and  all  that ;  but  I've  had  a  genteel  sufficien 
cy,  as  you  say,  of  girls,  pretty  or  otherwise. 
If  a  train  don't  come  soon,  I'll  be  a  corpse. 
(Sinks  in  chair  by  table,  L.) 

MARIA  ('patting  him  on  the  back).  Cheer  up, 
my  lord ;  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I 
can  save  you. 

JACK.  Nothing  can  save  me  but  flight. 

MARIA.  Well,  I  know  that.  ( Whispers  to 
him.) 

JACK.  What  if  your  brother  has  got  a 
mule? 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  115 

MARIA.  You  can  run  away  on  it  for  five 
dollars. 

JACK  (jumping  up).  Maria,  you  are  an  angel ! 
When  will  it  be  ready  ? 

MARIA.  Whenever  the  money  is. 

JACK.  Done!  (Gives  her  money.)  Now  run. 
Have  it  at  the  side  door,  and  when  all  is  pre 
pared,  come —  No,  we  must  be  cautious. 
Whistle  this  way  (whistles  bugle  call),  and  I'll 
slip  out. 

MARIA  (makes  several  attempts  to  whistle  ; 
finally  succeeds).  How's  that  ?  ( Goes  to 
door,  c.) 

JACK.  Fine. 

MARIA.  Oh,  hide !  Quick !  Get  behind 
that  screen.  Mrs.  Norval  is  comin'  down 
the  hall. 

JACK.  Gad,  I'll  run  for  it!  (Goes  to 
door,c.) 

MARIA.  Hush  !  She's  here.  (Pushes  him 
behind  screen,  R.  c.) 

JACK.  Remember  the  mule ! 

MARIA.  Count  on  me.  (  Winks  to  audience  ; 
comes  down  front.)  I'd  as  soon  help  him  as  any 
other;  an'  Mrs.  Norval,  she  can  try  lookin'  silly 
herself.  Yes,  ma'am  ;  that  what !  (Exit  c.) 


116  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

(Enter  CLORINDA,  JENNIE,  L.  ;  followed  by  MRS. 
B.,  who  sits,  L.,  facing  screen.) 

CLO.  (going  to  c.).  I  have  a  little  business, 
proposition  to  make,  Miss  Capiani,  and  as  it 
concerns  Lord  Jack,  I  presume  you  will  be 
interested. 

JEN.  I  knew  you  knew  him. 

CLO.  Why  shouldn't  I?  I  was  once  en 
gaged  to  him.  (Laughs.} 

JEN.  Jack  engaged  to  a  skirt  dancer !  Im 
possible  ! 

CLO.  Ah  !  but  I'm  not  a  skirt  dancer.  I'm 
just  an  ordinary  goose  of  a  girl  like  yourself, 
engaged  in  a  most  undignified  pursuit. 

JEN.  I  consider  all  this  highly  impertinent. 

CLO.  Keep  cool.  Come,  let  us  sit  down 
and  talk  reasonably.  (They  sit,  c.)  To  be 
brief,  here  are  yon,  I,  and  Miss  Eula,  all  en 
gaged  to  Lord  Jack.  Very  good.  You  will 
admit  we  can't  all  marry  him. 

JEN.  (rising).  Oh,  this  is  dreadful ! 
CLO.  (pulling  her  back).  Don't  be  a  ninny, 
my  dear.     Any  female  under  ninety  can  twist 
Jack  around  her  finger,  and  if  there  were  more 
girls  here  he'd  be  engaged  to  them  all. 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  H7 

JEN.  I  suppose  lie  would. 

CLO.  Undeniably.  So  why  not  enter  into 
the  affair  in  a  business-like  manner,  as  men 
do.  We  read  of  sugar  trusts,  wheat  trusts, 
iron  trusts  ;  why  not  get  up  a  Jack  trust  ? 

JEN.  A  Jack  trust !  What  is  a  trust  ?  I'm 
sure  we've  trusted  Jack  enough  now.  Too 
much. 

CLO.  Oh,  in  a  trust,  it's  the  other  fellow 
who  does  the  trusting,  don't  you  see.  Don't 
you  ever  read  the  newspapers  ? 

JEN.  No.  Mamma  says  they  are  not  fit 
reading  for  me. 

CLO.  Well,  my  mamma  is  broader  in  her 
views.  Consequently  I  know  several  things 
which  seem  to  have  escaped  your  attention. 
Let  me  see  how  I  can  explain.  First,  some 
men  get  together  all  there  is  of  some  special 
article,  and  say,  "  Let's  form  a  trust."  That 
knocks  the  small  dealer  out  of  sight.  Then 
the  public  trust  the  trust  company,  and  the 
trust  company  trust  each  other  until  one  of 
them  skips  to  Canada,  and  that  winds  up  the 
trust  and  the  trust  company.  See  ? 

JEN.  No,  I  don't.  What  has  this  to  do 
with  Jack  ? 


118  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

CLO.  Good  gracious !  What  a  pity  you 
never  read  the  papers  !  Here !  (Rises  ;  kneels 
on  chair,  facing  JENNIE.)  There's  only  one 
Jack,  who  comes  high,  but  all  want  him. 
Very  good ;  you  and  I  make  a  trust  of  him, 
and  Miss  Eula  is  out  of  the  game.  See  ? 

JEN.  Yes  ;  that  will  be  nice. 

CLO.  Then  we  run  the  trust  till  one  of  us 
gets  him.  See  ? 

JEN.  Oh  !     It's  like  a  jack  pot,  isn't  it  ? 

CLO.  Not  a  bit.  There's  no  "anteing  up." 
Besides,  in  poker,  one  jack  don't  make  "a  full 
house,"  while  in  this  game  he  does.  (Lauyhs.) 
That's  pretty  good  for  a  girl.  I  wish  there 
was  some  man  here  to  take  the  point. 

JEN.  (aside).  What  a  vulgar  girl !  (Aloud.) 
I  hardly  see  your  idea  yet,  Mrs.  Norval. 

CLO.  Oh,  sugar  !  I'll  write  out  a  neat  little 
promise  to  marry  for  each  of  us.  The  first 
to  find  Jack  alone  presents  it,  wheedles  him 
into  singing  it,  and  voila  !  the  Jack  trust  is 
dissolved.  One  skips  with  the  boodle — Jack 
— and  the  other  has  the  experience.  See  ? 

JEN.  (starting  up).  Oh,  you  clever  girl !  And 
he  couldn't  run  away  after  signing  a  paper  ? 

CLO.  Um !     Well,  I've  heard  of  it  being 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  119 

done.  But  it  would  be  a  business-like  affair, 
and  relieve  us  of  the  necessity  of  being  a  frac 
tion  of  a  fiancee,  which  is  degrading.  (JACK'S 
head  appears  over  top  of  screen.) 

JEN.  It's  just  splendid  !  Write  the  agree 
ment  now. 

CLO.  (going  to  table,  R.,  sits  ;  JENNIE  behind 
her).  I'll  take  a  page  out  of  the  register. 
( Writes.)  "  Whereas  I,  Jack  Townley,  being 
sane  and  of  sound  mind."  How's  that? 

JEN.  It  sounds  legal  and  binding. 

CLO.  Yes,  it's  legal,  but  it  isn't  true.  Le 
gal  facts  generally  are  not.  (  Writes.)  "And 
most  anxious  to  marry — "  That's  not  even 
a  legal  fact,  but  it's  necessary.  (Writes.)  "Do 
hereby  desire  and  agree  and  consent  to  wed  " 
— blank  for  name — "party  of  the  second  part, 
whenever  she  likes."  Now  how  shall  I  end 
it? 

JEN.  Something  about  my  seal,  you  know, 
and  a  red  wafer. 

CLO.  Oh,  yes !  "  Witness  my  hand  and 
seal."  Now  for  your  copy.  (  Writes  rapidly.) 
There  !  But  we  have  no  wafer. 

JEN.  (talcing  out  purse).  Would  postage- 
stamps  do  ? 


120  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

CLO.  They  might  make  it  seem  more  for 
mal.  Stick  them  on. 

JEN.  (sticking  on  stamps).  Now  I  suppose 
the  first  one  to  catch  Jack  will  be  the  lucky 
one  ?  (Looking  around.]  I  wonder  where  he 
is  ?  (JACK'S  head  disappears.] 

CLO.  (looking  at  screen).  I  imagine  he  is  not 
far  away.  (Gives  JENNIE  paper.]  There  is 
your  copy.  And  now,  vogue  la  galere  !  Each 
for  herself,  and  the,  etc.,  etc.  (Laughs.]  How 
nervous  the  dear  boy  would  be  if  only  he  could 
hear  our  little  plot ! 

JEN.  Yes  ;    wouldn't  he  ?     Shall   we  start 


now 


CLO.  I'm  ready.  Which  way  are  you  go 
ing? 

JEN.  To  the  garden. 

CLO.  (taking  her  arm].  So  am  I. 

JEN.  (disengaging  her  self].  I  meant  up-stairs. 

CLO.  So  did  I. 

JEN.  Oh,  dear !  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Norval, 
but  don't  you  see  I  want  to  go  alone  ? 

CLO.  (laughing].  So  do  I. 

JEN.  (aside].  I  can  easily  outrun  her. 
(Aloud.]  Pardon  me  for  leaving  you.  (Exit, 
c.,  running.] 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  121 

CLO.  Poor  girl !  She's  all  broken  up.  I  do 
hope  she  will  find  him.  ( Very  loud.)  I  won 
der  where  Jack  can  be  ?  (Looks  at  screen  ; 
goes  to  it;  shakes  it.)  He  might  be  here. 
( Winks  at  audience.)  No ;  he  never  could 
keep  so  still.  I'll  go  hunt  him  up. 

(Exit,  c.,  laughing  and  waving  paper.     MRS. 
B.  follows.) 

JACK  (coming  out,  drops  on  sofa).  Jove  !  I 
feel  like  a  confounded  rabbit !  Regularly 
hunted,  and  all  that.  It's  all  very  amusing 
to  be  an  irresistible,  but  I've  gone  a  little  too 
far.  Of  course  that  absurd  paper  amounts 
to  nothing,  as  I  could  marry  neither  under 
existing  circumstances,  but  I  might  sign  it. 
In  fact,  I  should  sign  it ;  I  know  I  should. 
I  simply  cannot  resist  a  woman.  So  my  only 
hope  is  Maria  and  the  mule. 

(Enter  CLORINDA,  c.,  waving  paper.) 

JACK.  Gad !    (Jumps  up  ;  runs  across  stage.) 
CLO.  (following).  Just  a  moment,  Jack  dar 
ling  ! 

JACK  (running).  Can't  stop.  You're  the 
only  girl  I  ever  loved. 


122  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

(Bolts  out,  L.,  pursued  by  CLORINDA.  They 
re-enter,  c.,  cross  stage  L.  to  R.  ;  back  ;  exit,  L. 
JACK  re-enters,  c.,out  of  breath;  goes  to  R.) 

JACK.  She's  missed  me ;  I  doubled  on  her 
in  the  hall.  Where  is  that  mule  1 

(Enter  JENNIE,  L.  ;  runs  to  JACK.     They  dodge 
about  stage  while  talking.} 

JACK.  Very  sorry,  but  I  can't  stop. 
JEN.  Oh,  Jack,  please  wait. 
JACK.  You're  the  only  girl   I  ever  loved. 
Let  me  be  near  thee. 

(Rushes  out,  L.,  JENNIE  after,  as  MARIA  en 
ters,  c.) 

MARIA  (holding  up  her  hands).  My  lavvsey 
me !  The  mule's  ready,  and  there  he  goes, 
with  that  horrid  gyurl  chasm'  him  like  he 
was  a  'coon  !  I'll  whistle  to  warn  him. 

( Whistles  bugle  call.     JACK,  JENNIE,  CLORIN 
DA  dash  in;  dodge  around  stage.) 

JACK  (breathlessly).  Can't  stop.     (Exit,  c.) 
CLO.  Hold  on  !     (Exit,  c.) 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  123 

(Enter  EULA,  L.;  stands  amazed.] 

JEN.  (holding  hand  to  her  side).  Jack, 
wait !  (Exit,  c.) 

MARIA.  Crickey  !  what  fun  !  (Exit,  c., 
whistling.) 

EULA.  My  poor  dear  boy !  I'll  tear  their 
eyes  out.  (Follows,  c.) 

(Enter  MRS.  B.,L.) 

MRS.  B.  (throws  off  sun  -  bonnet ;  slips  out 
of  old  dress).  I'll  take  a  hand  myself,  and 
save  his  fascinating  life.  (Exit,  c.) 

(JACK,  CLORINDA,  JENNIE,  MARIA,  EULA,  MRS. 
B.  run  in  L.,  out  c.,  GIRLS  crying,  "  Wait !" 
JACK,  "  Can't  stop  !") 

MRS.  B.  (re-entering,  L.,  laughing).  It  is  too 

perfectly  absurd ! 

(Stands,  c.  JACK,  entering,  L.,  stops  suddenly, 
facing  her.  GIRLS,  following,  stop  in  line 
slanting  from  L.  to  c.  exit.) 

JACK.  Clementine  ! 

MRS.  B.  Yes,  Jack,  my  dear.  Pray  present 
me  to  your  friends,  who  have  only  known 
me  as  "  old  Mrs.  Boothby." 


124  THE    JACK    TRUST. 

JACK.  You  old  Mrs.  Bootliby  ! 

ALL.  You? 

MRS.  B.  (laughing}.  Yes,  I.  But  pray  pre 
sent  me,  Jack. 

JACK.  Certainly,  my  darling.  (Crosses  to 
her,  R.  Takes  her  hand.)  Ladies,  let  me 
present  to  you — my — er — er — aliern  !  wife. 

ALL.  Your  wife  ? 

JACK.  Yes,  my  adorable  wife.  Oh,  Clemen 
tine,  you — you  are  the  only  girl  I  ever  loved. 

MRS.  B.  (laughing  archly].  So  old  Mrs. 
Bootliby  told  me.  Ah,  Jack  and  ladies,  I 
thank  you  very  sincerely  for  the  comedy  you 
have  played  for  me. 

JACK.  I  knew  you  all  the  time. 

MRS.  B.  Oh,  you  goose  !    But  I  forgive  you. 

JACK  (embracing  her).  I  knew  you  would. 
(Bell  rings.)  By  Jove  !  the  train. 

JEN.  What  will  mamma  say  ? 

CLO.  Suppose  we  go  and  see. 

EULA.  I  —  I  never  could  endure  him. 
(Faints.) 

MARIA  (placing  her  in  chair).  Lawsey  me ! 
Hole  up  your  head,  Miss  Eula.  This  ain't 
the  first  time  you've  been  left,  an'  you  orter 
be  used  to  it.  Yes,  ma'am  ;  that's  what ! 


THE    JACK    TRUST.  125 

MRS.  B.  Jack,  shall  we  go  ? 
JACK.  Certainly,  my  darling.     (Advancing 
front.) 

The  joint-stock  gone,  the  holders  "bust," 
The  "Jack  Trust"  ends  as  all  trusts  must. 
The  moral  is— you'll  all  agree— 
One  can  have  too  much  luck  like  me. 

TABLEAU. 

MARIA.       CLORINDA.    JENNIE.       JACK. 
EULA.  MRS.  B. 

QUICK    CURTAIN. 


THE   YENEEKED   SAYAGE. 


CHARACTERS. 

Lou  DAYTON A  Chicago  belle. 

MADGE  DAYTON Her  younger  sister. 

DICK  MAJENDIE Cousin  to  the  sisters. 

TlIE    DUCHKSS    OF    DlDDLESEX. 

LADY  FANNY  ....  Her  daughter,  a  silent  young  person. 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN Her  son,  a  still  more 

silent  young  person. 
Place,  London. 


THE  VENEERED   SAVAGE. 


ACT.  I. 

Pleasant  interior.  Lou  and  MADGE,  in  ordi 
nary  house  dress,  reading  a  letter  together  as 
curtain  rises.  They  read  it,  turn  and  look 
long  at  each  other,  as  if  in  amazement,  but 
still  in  silence.  MADGE  walks  towards  back 
of  stage,  Lou  still  holding  letter;  throws  let 
ter  angrily  on  table  L.  F.,  seats  herself  in 
chair  R.  of  table.  Knock  at  door. 

MADGE  (turning).  Come  ! 

(Enter  DICK  MAJENDIE.  Both  girls  rush  to 
him,  each  seizing  an  arm,  they  bring  him 
down  to  foot-lights,  exclaiming  together  "  Oh, 
Cousin  Dick !" 

Lou.  Oh,  Dick  !     I  am  so  glad  !     You  are 
the  very  man  we  want  to  see ! 
9 


130        THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

MADGE.  Cousin  Dick  !  My  dear  Dick !  We 
did  so  want  to  see  you ! 

DICK.  Why  that  is  just  what  Lou  said. 
What  is  the  matter  that  you  both  look  so 
blue,  and  are  so  desperately  fond  of  me  ?  I 
never  noticed  anything  of  this  kind  in  Amer 
ica.  Arc  you  home-sick  already  ?  or  is  some 
thing  wrong  about  your  luggage  ?  Or  per 
haps  you  are  not  over  the  motion  of  the 
steamer  yet.  You  came  on  the  Servia,  didn't 
you  ?  I  don't  like  the  Servia. 

Lou.  Motion  of  the  steamer — nonsense  ! 

MADGE.  Now,  Dick,  don't  be  stupid. 

Lou.  No,  Dick  ;  don't  be  dull. 

DICK.  But,  girls — 

MADGE.  Can't  you  see  we  are  angry  ? 

Lou.  Yes — furious  ! 

(Lou  and  MADGE  talking  together.) 

Lou.  Yes,  and  I  can  just  tell  you — 
MADGE.  For  my  part,  I  will  just  say — 
DICK    ( who    has    been  frantically    turning 
from  one  to  the  other).  Oh,  my  poor  ears  !   For 
Heaven's  sake,  girls,  one  at  a  time,  phase! 

Lou.  Well,  I  suppose  you  remember  the 
son  of  the  Duke  of  Diddlesex  ? 

MADGE.  You  know,  Dick,  that  red,  gawky 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        131 

young  Englishman  who  visited  us  so  long  in 
Chicago  ? 

DICK.  No.  I  know  the  Duchess  very  well, 
but  her  son  is  on  a  hunting  expedition Nor 
way,  Africa,  something  of  the  sort— I  have 
never  seen  him. 

Lou.  My  dear  Dick,  we  are  talking  of 
America.  He  visited  us  in  Chicago.  Why, 
he  was  with  us  three  months. 

DICK.  But  I  was  here.  You  forget  that  I 
have  been  in  England  the  last  two  years. 

MADGE.  Never  mind  that ;  the  point  is  we 
have  had  a  letter  from  the  Duchess. 
Lou.  Yes,  from  the  Duchess. 
DICK.    The    duchess!      Which?      As    an 
American   I  am   the   fashion,  and  know   as 
many  duchesses  as  Buffalo  Bill. 
•  Lou.  Well,  as  we  have  only  been  in  Lon 
don  one  night,  we  only  know  one  duchess 

by  letter— the  Duchess  of  Diddlesex. 

MADGE.  And  to  think  that  her  son  spent 
two  months  with  us — 

Lou  (raising  her  voice).   Three  months 

MADGE  (jerking  DICK  away  by  the  arm, 
and  marching  him  up  the  stage  and  back).  It 
is  the  most  outrageous  piece  of  business ! 


132       THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

Lou  (jerking  DICK  by  other  arm,  marching 
him  away  and  back  in  same  manner}.  It  is 
exactly  what  I  have  always  heard  of  the  Eng 
lish  as  a  nation.  They  are  rude— 

MADGE.  Pig-headed — 

Lou.  Sneering — 

MADGE.  Supercilious  ! 

TjOTT       \  (  I  despise  them ! 

I  (both  together).  ]^        '    ,        . 
MADGE  j  v  (I  hate  them  ! 

DICK.  But  why  —  what  —  where  —  how  — 
what — what—what  is  it  all  about?  If  you 
will  kindly  explain  before  I — 

Lou  (seizing  letter  and  crumpling  it  into 
his  hand).  There  !  read  that ! 

(DiCK  seats  himself  on  table,  L.  F.  ;  Lou  sits 
R.  of  table;  MADGE  stands  L.  of  DICK,  look 
ing  over  his  shoulder.) 

DICK  (reading).  "My  dearest  Sophie — " 
(Stops  short;  stares.) 

BOTH  GIRLS.  Oh,  go  on  !  go  on ! 

DICK  (reading).  "Dearest  Sophie,— You 
might  not  have  known  that  you  dine  with  me 
to-day  without  fail"  (tremendously  under 
scored),  "but  you  do.  Consider  me  as  a 
sinking  ship,  or  what  you  please,  in  dire  dis- 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        133 

tress,  and  come  to  my  rescue,  whatever  your 
other  engagements.  That  is  Kismet  —  at 
least  it  is  mamma,  which  is  the  same  thing, 
you  know.  I  am  now  despatching  a  note  of 
invitation  to  two  Choctaw  princesses  from 
the  West,  Miss  Louise  Dayton  and  her  young 
er  sister,  Madge — "  (DiCK  stops,  whistles, 
stares  at  girls.) 

MADGE  (giving  him  a  little  shake).  Go  on ; 
the  best  is  yet  to  come. 

DICK  (reading).  "  I  forget  precisely  wheth 
er  their  native  prairie  village  is  called  Detroit, 
Duluth,  Kalamazoo,  or  Chicago.  American 
geography  is  such  a  bore,  with  its  barbarous 
nomenclature,  one  never  can  remember !  One 
gets  a  little  tired  of  Americans,  except  Buf 
falo  Bill,  who  is  charming.  He  never  pre 
tends  to  anything  English.  He  reveals  him 
self  the  simple  aborigine.  But  the  usual 
American  girl — the  veneered  savage  in  the 
Worth  gown,  talking  about  her  '  family  '  (save 
the  mark  !),  coming  here  to  waltz  with  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  hunt  a  possible  hus 
band  among  us  —  I  am  positively  sick  of 
her,  and  cannot  see  why  our  men  rave  so 
about  American  wit  and  beauty.  For  my 


134       THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

part,  I  think  they  are  simply  pert  and 
scrawny — " 

Lou  (interrupting].  Sweet  creature  !  How 
I  burn  to  see  her — and  have  her  see  me  ! 

DICK.  Hold  on !  here  is  the  cream  of  the 
letter.  Listen.  (Reads.]  "  However,  they 
are  inevitable,  these  Choctaw  ladies — at  least 
Howard  is  peremptory  about  them.  He  has 
written  again  and  again  from  Norway,  not  to 
mention  a  dozen  telegrams,  and  is  coming 
home  simply  to  meet  them.  I  have  never 
known  him  so  earnest  about  anything;  as 
mamma  says,  he  is  evidently  epris  of  one  of 
them.  Pleasant  prospect  for  the  House  of 
Diddlesex,  is  it  not?  Still  the  prairie  princess 
is  not  yet  covered  with  our  strawberry  leaves, 
and  before  that  is  accomplished  she  will  meet 
and  reckon  with  mamma.  Mamma  says  we 
are  to  humor  Howard,  overwhelm  them  with 
courtesies,  play  them  as  one  does  a  trout, 
and  at  the  right  moment  cut  the  whole  affair 
short.  But  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  no 
tice  them  in  any  way.  You  understand,  you 
are  to  come  to  talk  to  me,  and  we  can  amuse 
ourselves.  Be  sure  you  come  to  keep  me  in 
countenance  and  patience.  Yours,  as  ever, 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        135 

FANNY."  A  very  pleasant  note,  upon  my 
word  !  I  never  thought  there  was  so  much 
malice  in  Lady  Fanny.  She  seems  a  jolly 
little  soul;  has  been  awfully  kind  to  me,  I 
assure  you. 

Lou  (sarcastically').  Of  course,  you  are  a 
man.  I  dare  say  she  could  even  manage  to 
recollect  the  name  of  your  native  prairie. 

DICK.  But  how  did  this  note  come  into 
your  hands?  Sophie  is  her  sister-in-law, 
Lady  Delancy,  I  fancy. 

MADGE.  That  is  simple.  She  wrote  two 
notes  at  the  same  time.  She  says  I  am  de 
spatching  a  note  of  invitation.  .Don't  you 
see  —  present  tense?  Very  good;  when  all 
that  spite  and  jealousy  about  American  girls 
was  poured  out,  there  was  nothing  left  in  her 
but — her  native  idiocy ;  so  she  enclosed  the 
notes  in  the  wrong  envelopes,  and  Sophie, 
whoever  she  is,  is  now  reading  our  invitation 
to  Diddlesex  House,  just  as  we  have  been 
reading  hers. 

Lou  (who  has  been  ivalking  about  in  a  brown- 
study}.  I  have  it ! 

DICK.  What? 

Lou.  An  idea.     She  is  tired  of  the  regula- 


136       THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

tion  American  girl — the  veneered  savage  in 
a  Worth  gown,  pretending  to  be  English — 
and  she  likes  Buffalo  Bill.  She  shall  have 
Buffalo  Bill  in  petticoats — two  of  him — eh, 
Madge  ? 

MADGE  (rushes  down  to  R.).  Yes  ! 

Lou.  She  shall  have  no  cause  to  regret  her 
Abyssinians. 

MADGE  (clapping  her  hands).  AVe  will  go 
Zulu! 

Lou.  Have  you  told  them  anything  about 
us  yet,  Dick  ? 

DICK.  Not  a  word.  But  if  you  seriously 
mean  a  masquerade — 

Lou.  Bright  boy  !     That  is  precisely  it. 

DICK.  It  would  be  very  undignified,  and 
you  never  could  carry  it  out. 

MADGE.  Oh,  couldn't  we?  I  have  not  for 
gotten  my  school-days  yet.  (Gives  an  infan 
tine  yodle,  skims  across  the  stage  and  back.) 
There,  isn't  that  something  in  the  style  of  a 
prairie  princess  ? 

Lou.  But,  Dick  (coaxingly),  dear  Dick, 
there  are  some  things  you  must  tell  us. 

MADGE.  Yes ;  slang,  you  know,  and  all 
that.  I  have  one  of  Bret  Harte's  California 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        137 

stories  and  an  article  on  "  Bucolic  Dialect  of 
the  Plains,"  which  we  can  study  up  ;  but  the 
only  bit  of  slang  I  remember  just  now  is — 
playing  it — er — playing  it  rather  low  down. 

DICK  That  is  exactly  what  you  two  girls 
intend  to  do. 

Lou  (pouting'].  Never  mind  him,  Madge ; 
we  can  read  Bret  Harte  for  ourselves  between 
now  and  this  evening,  and  learn  enough  in 
half  an  hour  to  astonish  Lady  Fanny.  But 
there  is  something  you  must  explain,  Dick, 
and  that  is  poker ;  the  terms,  I  mean — two  of 
a  kind,  and  all  that.  Papa  would  not  allow 
us  to  learn  the  game. 

DICK  (teasingly}.  Then  it  is  quite  impossi 
ble.  I  could  not  explain  my  conduct  to  my 
uncle  if  I  did. 

MADGE.  Nonsense !  You  care  so  much, 
no  matter  what  papa  might  say !  Come 
away,  Lou.  Don't  you  see  we  shall  get  no 
assistance  from  him  ? 

DICK.  No  ;  I  disapprove  of  the  whole  affair. 

Lou.  My  dear  cousin  Dick,  have  we  asked 
for  your  approbation  ?  This  is  our  under 
taking.  But  as  a  gentleman  I  presume  you 
will  keep  silence. 


138        THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

DICK  (haughtily).  You  presume  ! 

MADGE  (soothingly).  Of  course  he  will  be 
silent,  Lou.  He  is  an  American,  is  lie  not? 
and  are  American  men  ever  anything  but  gal 
lant  and  courteous  to  women  ?  "  Strawberry 
leaves,"  indeed  !  (  Walking  angrily  up  and 
down.)  An  honest,  well-bred  American  gen 
tleman  (seizes  DICK  by  the  arm)  is  worth  ev 
ery  ducal  coronet  in  England. 

(Marches  DICK  across  stage.) 

DICK  (laughing).  Thanks,  my  little  cousin. 
What  man  would  not  prize  a  true-hearted 
American  girl  I 

Lou  (following  them  impatiently).  Never 
mind  heroics,  but  listen.  Fortune  is  propi 
tious  to  us.  I  have  just  remembered  that  we 
have  with  us  the  very  gowns  for  the  occasion. 
Our  Mexican  costumes,  you  know,  Madge. 

DICK.  You  will  never  wear  those  costumes 
here_to  Diddlesex  Castle  ?  Oh,  girls,  girls, 
do  reflect ! 

Lou.  My  good  cousin  Dick,  don't  you  see 
that  is  just  what  we  are  doing?  I  am  about 
it  this  moment ;  for,  of  course,  we  must  have 
sobriquets. 


THE    VENEERED    SAVAGE.  139 

DICK  (stupefied).   Sobriquets? 

MADGE.  Of  course.  Don't  you  see  ?  So 
briquets  to  match  the  gowns.  Something 
glaring  and  impossible.  I  have  it ! 

Lou  AND  DICK.  Well  ? 

MADGE.  Lightning  Lou — (all  laugh) — and 
Mashing  Madge.  Aren't  they  just  too  deli- 
ciously  vulgar ! 

DICK  (laughs  heartily,  then  suddenly  grows 
serious).  This  is  all  very  droll  here.  But, 
girls — Lou,  Madge  —  consider  how  strange! 
how  unladylike ! 

Lou.  Spare  your  remonstrances.  It  is 
done  settled.  I  shall  send  those  names  up 
on  our  cards. 

MADGE  (dancing  about).  Yes,  yes.  Light 
ning  Lou  and  Mashing  Madge !  Oh,  what  a 
joke  ! 

Lou.  You  see,  Dick,  we  are  quite  deter 
mined.  There  is  only  one  course  left  for  you 
— to  be  there  in  good  season,  and  lose  none 
of  the  fun. 

MADGE.  And  pray,  to  avoid  monotony, 
why  should  I  not  play  the  well-known  Amer 
ican  spoiled  child,  the  overgrown  girl  who 
hardly  knows  her  letters,  has  no  manners, 


140        THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

and  should  be  in  short  skirts,  but  who  is  al 
ready  in  society  and  has  love  affairs.  I'll 
do  it! 

(DiCK  shrugs  his  shoulders,  and  walks  to  door.] 

Lou.  But — an  awful  thought ! — the  duch 
ess  and  her  daughter  have  called,  but  we  were 
not  at  home,  and  this  note  to  Sophie — well, 
it  speaks  of  dinner.  Was  it  to  dine  we  were 
asked  ? 

DICK.  Yes,  to  dine  at  eight.  I  am  sure, 
for  I  was  invited  to  meet  you.  (Recollecting 
himself.)  Now,  why  did  I  tell  you?  If  I 
had  not,  you  could  not  have  gone. 

Lou.  So  sorry. 

MADGE  (sweeping  him  a  courtesy).  Au  re- 
voir,  cousin.  (Goes  to  door  with  Lou.  Exit 
Lou,  MADGE  coming  back.)  You  are  not 
really  angry,  are  you,  cousin  ?  I  should  hate 
to  think  you  were  really  displeased. 

DICK.  My  dear  little  Madge,  it  would  be 
hard  to  be  really  angry  with  you.  I  am 
vexed,  in  an  elder-brother  way,  with  your 
folly,  that  is  all.  Even  now,  it  is  not  too 
late. 

MADGE  (running  away  to  door).  Yes,  it  is, 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.       141 

Dick,  much  too  late.  Nothing  would  per 
suade  me  not  to  repay  that  contemptuous 
young  woman  in  her  own  coin,  and  show  her 
whether  American  hospitality  is  designing  or 
not,  and  whether  we  entertained  her  brother 
out  of  hearty  good-will  or  no.  I  fancy  we 
shall  succeed  in  making  it  clear  to  her  how 
highly  we  two  Choctaws  value  the  strawberry 
leaves  and  other  Diddlesex  accessaries  with 
out  good-will. 

(Waves  her  hand,  gives  DICK  a  mocking  bow, 
goes  out  laughing.] 

DICK.  Were  there  ever  such  madcaps ! 
And  they  will  do  it ;  there's  not  a  doubt  of 
that.  They'll  carry  it  out.  I  won't  go  !  I'll 
be  ill — dead — out  of  town.  Hang  it !  I  will 
go,  if  only  to  see  fair  play.  (Lights  a  cigar.} 
I  must  smoke  on  all  this.  In  their  Mexi 
can  dresses.  (Puffs  at  cigar,  walks  about.) 
Lightning  Lou  and  Mashing  Madge.  Atro 
cious  !  And  the  Duchess  of  Diddlesex,  that 
most  proper  woman,  she  will  never  recover 
from  the  blow.  And  Lady  Fanny  !  Who 
would  suppose  that  little  person  could  show 
so  spiteful !  (Paces  up  and  down  again.) 


142        THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

Gad,  what  a  hateful  letter  !  and  how  hard  on 
the  girls !  Amazing  how  women  claw  each 
other.  I  am  half  inclined —  By  Jove,  I 
will!  Why  not?  (Laughs.)  You  will  be 
Buffalo  Bill  in  petticoats,  will  you,  my  pretty 
cousins  ?  Then,  pray,  why  not  I  Buffalo  Bill 
himself  —  a  ranch  king,  rather,  or  prairie 
prince,  in  huge  hat,  gay  sash,  pistols,  etc.  ? 
Why  not?  The  duchess  shall  infer  that  I 
am  like  the  educated  African,  who  goes  back 
to  his  breech-cloth  and  savagery  at  the  first 
tap  of  the  Voudoo  drum.  I'll  blossom  out 
as  the  American  aborigine  at  the  first  glimpse 
of  my  prairie  cousins.  Good !  Excellent ! 
It  will  be  worth  it  all  to  see  Lou  and  Madge 
on  their  first  glance  at  me.  (Goes  out  whist 
ling) 


CURTAIN. 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        143 


ACT   II. 

Handsome  interior  at  Diddlesex  Castle.  Cur 
tain  rises  on  DUCHESS,  LORD  ALGERNON 
PENRYHN,  and  LADY  FANNY,  in  dinner  dress, 
grouped  at  R.  c.  of  stage  opposite  entrance  on 
L.  FOOTMAN  announces  "  MR.  MAJENDIE." 
DICK  enters  in  wide  sombrero,  pistol  and 
knife  in  red  sash,  high  boots  and  spurs, 
ivide  collar,  loose  jacket.  He  affects  a  the 
atrical  swagger,  bows  low  to  the  group. 

DUCHESS  (eying  him  through  her  glass).  Mr. 
— er — Mr.  Majendie  ! 

LADY  FANNY.  Or  one  of  Tussaud's  wax 
works. 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN  (staring  through 
monocle).  By  Jove  ! 

DICK  (boiving).  Dick  Majendie,  as  much  at 
your  service  as  ever,  Duchess.  I  have  mere 
ly  returned  to  my  native  costume.  I  saw  my 
American  cousins  this  morning — 

LADY  FANNY  (to  nobody  in  particular].  Ah, 
that  explains. 


144        THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

DICK  (turning  quickly).  I  beg  your  par 
don.  You  said — 

LADY  FANNY.  Nothing,  Mr.  Majendie.  You 
are  quite  mistaken. 

DICK  (bows,  and  turns  to  DUCHESS).  Con 
sider  me,  Duchess,  as  a  victim  to — 

(Enter  FOOTMAN  bringing  cards.  DUCHESS 
looks  at  them  as  if  petrified,  re-examines 
them,  hands  them  to  DICK.) 

DUCHESS.  How  very  extraordinary !  Per 
haps  you  can  explain  these  —  er  — singular 
names,  Mr.  Majendie  ? 

DICK  (reads  aloud).  "  Lightning  Lou,  nee 
Dayton  ;  Mashing  Madge,  nee  Dayton." 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN.  By  Jove  ! 

LADY  FANNY.  Doubtless  another  American 
peculiarity. 

DICK  (aside).  Spiteful  little  creature! 
(Aloud.)  Precisely,  as  you  say,  another  Amer 
ican  custom.  Perhaps  we  should  not  pre 
sume  to  have  ways  of  our  own ;  but  if  you 
find  us  very  barbarous,  remember  that  we  can 
not  all  be  born  in  England,  you  know. 

LADY  FANNY  (to  her  brother).  He  never 
was  so  disagreeable  before.  It  is  all  the  do- 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        145 

ing  of  those  intolerable   American    cousins. 
I  know  it. 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN.  By  Jove  ! 

(FOOTMAN  announces  loudly,  "LIGHTNING  Lou, 
nee  DAYTON;  MASHING  MADGE,  nee  BAY- 
TON.") 

DICK  (coming  down  L.  F.).  Ye  gods ! 

(Enter  Lou  and  MADGE  brilliantly  dressed  in 
Mexican  costumes,  skirts  clearing  ankles, 
showing  Suede  slippers,  black  lace  stockings, 
short  scarlet  jackets  embroidered  with  gold 
opening  over  white  silk  shirts,  and  black-and- 
gold  sashes,  dagger  and  pistol  worn  on  chat 
elaine,  large  piece  of  lace  or  gauze  worn  on 
head  as  mantilla.  MADGE  wears  flowing 
hair  ;  both  have  a  profusion  of  Rhine-stone 
jewelry,  and  carry  large  fans,  which  they 
use  with  much  coquetry.  MADGE,  ivithout 
noticing  anybody  in  room,  saunters  about  ex 
amining  bric-a-brac.} 

Lou  (advancing,  assured  and  condescending}. 
The  Duchess  of  Diddlesex,  I  presume.  So 
glad  to  meet  you,  and  your  sister  (glances 
at  LADY  FANNY) — no,  daughter,  is  it  not? 
Though  we  hardly  thought  we  could  spare 
10 


146       THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

time  to  come  to  you.  There  is  so  much  else 
that  is  really  interesting.  (Fans  herself  and 
stares  hard.) 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN.  By  Jove  ! 

LADY  FANNY.  What  savages  ! 

DICK  (laughing  aside).  One  for  the  Duch 
ess. 

MADGE  (turns  abruptly).  Walk  light  there, 
Lou.  Of  course  the  Duchess  knows  how  it 
is  herself.  But  (to  DUCHESS),  as  I  told  Lou, 
we  had  heard  so  much  of  you  from  Howard. 

DUCHESS.  Howard  ! 

MADGE.  Yes,  Howard  !  He  is  your  son, 
isn't  he  ?  Howard  Diddlesex.  And  he  talk 
ed  so  much  about  you  and  the  old  gentle 
man — 

DUCHESS.  The  old  gentleman  ! 

DICK  (coming  forward).  My  cousin  means 
the  Duke,  I  fancy. 

(Lou  and  MADGE  look  at  DICK  and  start.) 

Lou  (aside  to  him).  You  are  a  dear  good 
fellow ! 

MADGE.  Your  cousin,  Dick  Majendie, 
means,  as  she  generally  does,  just  about 
what  she  says.  And  as  I  was  saying,  Duch- 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        147 

ess,  I  told  Lou  we'd  just  chip  right  in,  in  a 
sociable  way.  So  you  needn't  trot  out  your 
company  ways  for  us.  (Lou  and  DICK  laugh 
aside.) 

DUCHESS.  Company  ways  !  Chip  right  in ! 
I  do  not  quite  follow. 

Lou.  Oh,  Duchess,  you  must  pardon  my 
little  sister's  school-girl  slang;  she  is  only 
fourteen,  you  know. 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN  (staring  through 
glass).  By  Jove  ! 

LADY  FANNY.  Only  fourteen  ;  nonsense  ! 

MADGE  (giving  a  skip).  Good- sized  girl, 
ain't  I? 

(LADY  FANNY  turns  disdainfully  away.  DICK 
draws  MADGE'S  arm  protectinyly  through 
his.) 

Lou  (fanning  herself  and  eying  LORD  AL 
GERNON  PENRYHN  with  marked  coquetry). 
Only  fourteen,  I  assure  you,  Duchess,  and,  as 
you  see,  irrepressible.  Indeed,  that  is  why 
we  came  abroad,  she  had  so  many  love  affairs. 

DUCHESS  (horror-struck).  So  many  love 
affairs !  A  girl  of  fourteen  !  Are  such  things 
possible  in  your  country  ? 


148        THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

LADY  FANNY  (aside).  The  East  Indian  sav 
ages  marry  at  nine  years  of  age. 

MADGE.  You  bet  they  are,  Duchess.  (Skips 
over  to  her  side.)  Why,  ma  and  pa  were  reg 
ularly  rattled.  They  calculated  I  was  sure 
to  marry  Jack  Peyton.  So  I  was,  only  (pokes 
DUCHESS  with  her  fan)  ma  said  I  might  come 
over  here,  and  pa  promised  me  a  diamond 
necklace  that  should  lay  all  over  Flossie 
Skegg's — I  mean  her  last  one,  that  she  does 
her  marketing  in. 

DUCHESS.  I  do  not  comprehend.  What  is 
doing  her  marketing  ? 

Lou.  Why,  ordering  in  the  meat  for  din 
ner,  and  the  garden  sass,  green  things,  milk, 
and  eggs,  you  know.  (Aside  to  DICK.)  How 
was  that,  Dick  ?  Madge  outshines  me  in  this 
line. 

LADY  FANNY.  And  you  order  groceries 
and — truck — in  diamonds  ? 

MADGE  (impertinently).  We  order  groceries 
in  paper  bags  ;  but  we  certainly  wear  our  di 
amonds  when  we  do  it,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean.  No  lady  in  Chicago  would  go  shop 
ping  in  less  than  $1500  worth  of  diamonds. 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN.  Oh, by  Jove! 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        149 

Lou  (turning  sharply  on  him).  An  excel 
lent  country  for  penniless  younger  sons — to 
marry  in. 

LADY  FANNY  (aside).  Insolent  creature  ! 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN  (struggles  with 
a  speech,  opens  his  mouth,  shuts  it,  says  again). 
By  Jove ! 

DUCHESS  (courteously  to  MADGE).  I  noticed 
you  were  looking  at  that  little  copy  of  Mi 
chael  Angelo's — 

MADGE.  Michael  Angelo  ?  Oh  yes,  I  know. 
He  painted  that  portrait  of  E.  P.  Strong; 
you  know,  Lou,  Strong,  the  pork-packer. 

DUCHESS.  Oh  !  ah  !  doubtless  another  per 
son — 

(Lou  interrupts  her  by  singing  a  refrain  from 
"  Erminie."  DUCHESS  stops  in  marked 
manner;  draws  herself  up.] 

Lou  (speaking  over  her  shoulder].  Excuse 
me,  Duchess ;  but,  you  see,  we  are  untram 
melled  children  of  the  West.  Prairie  prin 
cesses,  as  it  were.  (Glances  at  LADY  FANNY, 
who  starts.)  I  am  afraid  we  shock  you. 

DUCHESS  (courteously).  Oh,  not  at  all.  But 
may  I  show  you  some  of  my  paintings? 


150        THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

Here  is  a  prairie    scene   that   may   interest 
you. 

Lou  (skips  up,  hooks  her  arm  within  the 
DUCHESS'S).  Prairie!  I  should  smile!  Just 
say  prairie,  and  I'm  all  there.  You  under 
stand,  a  prairie  gets  me. 

( They  go  out,  DUCHESS  doing  the  amiable.  DICK 
and  LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN  converse  L.  c. 
MADGE  takes  c.  of  staff e ;  stands  contemplat 
ing  LADY  FANNY,  who  is  seated  R.  c.) 

MADGE.  Are  you  ill? 

LADY  FANNY.  Certainly  not. 

MADGE.  Have  you  any  broken  bones? 

LADY  FANNY  (haughtily).  I  do  not  under 
stand  you. 

MADGE  (swaggering  about).  I  dare  say. 
You  English  are  a  sort  of  kitchen  nation. 
You  know  all  about  eating,  running  country- 
houses,  keeping  weekly  accounts,  making  rich 
marriages,  and  stamping  on  poor  people. 

DICK  (crossing).  For  Heaven's  sake, 
Madge — 

MADGE.  All  right,  Dick  ;  it's  not  her  fault, 
I  know,  if  she  was  born  an  English  girl.  But 
do  you  always  sit  like  this  (imitates  LADY 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        151 

FANNY'S  rigid  pose),  and  look  like  this  ? 
(Jumps  up.*)  Isn't  there  any  girl  in  you  ? 

DICK  (aside).  It's  coming.  There  will  be 
a  pitched  battle,  and  I,  as  the  neutral  party, 
shall  be  the  victim,  and  taken  away  in  sec 
tions. 

LADY  FANNY.  Perhaps  not,  as  you  under 
stand  it. 

MADGE.  But  do  you  never  snap  your  fin 
gers,  and  jump  and  run  (suits  action  to  word), 
and  speak  out  and  up,  and  go  in  for  fun  gen 
erally  ?  (Dances  about.) 

LADY  FANNY  (stiffly).  I  hope  not. 

MADGE.  She  hopes  not.  (Laughs  heartily.) 
She  hopes  she's  a  petrified  tish.  It's  too 
much  for  me.  You  talk  to  her,  Dick,  until 
Lou  comes  back ;  she  makes  me  tired. 
(Aside  to  audience).  I  really  did  not  know  I 
could  be  so  rude  and  slangy. 

(Goes  towards  LORD  ALGERNON,  while  DICK 
crosses  to  LADY  FANNY.  DUCHESS  and  Lou 
enter.) 

Lou  (talking  eagerly).  Buffaloes!  buffaloes  ! 
Why,  they  are  as  thick  in  Chicago  as — let 
me  see — as  flies  ;  aren't  they,  Dick  ? 


152        THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

DICK.  What  ?  Buffaloes  in —  Oh  !  ah  ! 
Yes,  certainly.  Quite  so. 

(MADGE  becomes  convulsed  with   laughter  be 
hind  her  fan.}   4 

DUCHESS.  I  wonder  you  live  where  there 
are  such  dangers. 

Lou.  Dangers  ?  Not  at  all.  It's  delight 
ful.  Chicago's  no  (with  an  effort} — no  slouch 
of  a  city. 

MADGE  (aside  to  DICK).  Poor  Lou !  she 
finds  it  hard  —  the  elegant  Miss  Dayton, 
noted  for  her  perfect  manners.  I  must 
go  to  the  rescue.  (To  DUCHESS.)  Delight 
ful  !  I  should  think  so !  There  is  no  fun 
in  the  world  up  to  a  buffalo  hunt.  We 
were  on  one  just  before  we  came  here,  Lou 
and  I. 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN.  By  Jove  ! 

DUCHESS.  You  confound  me  ! 

MADGE  (walking  up  and  down,  and  slashing 
a  little  riding-whip  she  has  taken  from  her 
belt).  Yes ;  just  before-  we  sailed.  AVe  were 
at  breakfast,  seven  o'clock,  I  reckon — we  have 
late  breakfast  at  our  house  —  when  Wrill — 
er —  (She  hesitates.) 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        153 

DICK  (aside  to  her}.  Pajama  will  do. 
(Laughs.) 

MADGE.  — Will  Pajama  jumped  in  through 
the  window,  shouting,  "  Girls !  girls !  get 
your  guns !  A  Buffalo  hunt !  Three  hun 
dred  head  of  them  at  least,  right  outside  the 
Palmer  House!"  "Oh,  you  hire  a  hall!" 
says  Lou.  (Lou  and  DICK  laugh  together.) 
And  says  he,  "  Honest  Injun  !  See  for  your 
self.  The  whole  Stock  Exchange  is  after 
them,  half  a  dozen  prayer-meetings,  and  every 
clerk  in  every  shop  that  can  beg,  borrow,  or 
steal  a  horse.  Good  time  to  say  howdy  to 
the  folks." 

LADY  FANNY.  Say  what  ? 

MADGE  (whirling  on  her).  Howdy,  dear  ? 
We  haven't  time  to  drawl  out,  "  How  do  you 
do  ?"  (To  DUCHESS.)  As  I  was  saying,  Will 
said,  "  Get  your  lariats."  As  if  we  ever  were 
without  them  !  (Rushing  to  DICK.)  Tell  me, 
quick,  where  do  those  dreadful  cowboys  carry 
their  lariats  ? 

DICK.  Around  their  necks,  dear. 

MADGE.  We  always  wear  our  lariats  around 
our  necks  at  home.  (DiCK  in  quiet  convul 
sions  of  laughter.)  And  it  was  just  one  jump 


154       THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

from  the  breakfast-table — whiz  !  bang ! — out 
of  the  house.  Ma  screaming,  "  Girls,  come 
back!  You'll  get  killed!"  Lou  tore  the 
door  open  ;  I  behind  her,  on  the  run.  There 
was  Lightning,  Lou's  horse,  and  Pitchfire,  my 
pony.  We  always  keep  them  readv  saddled, 
you  know,  in  case  we  should  feel  like  taking 
the  town — 

DUCHESS.  What  is  that  ? 
\ 

Lou.  Taking  the  town  ?  Oh,  when  we  feel 
bored,  we  ride  up  and  down,  half  a  dozen  or 
so  of  us,  giving  the  Comanche  yell,  and  firing 
pistols  now  and  then.  You've  no  idea  how 
it  wakes  one  up. 

DUCHESS.  I  should  fancy  it  might. 

MADGE.  Oh,  but  that  isn't  a  patch  on  a 
buffalo  hunt.  Imagine  it !  Our  horses  are 
as  fit  as  we,  just  mad  to  be  off,  whinnying 
and  pawing.  One  jump  to  our  saddles,  and 
we're  off.  Lou's  hair  falls  down.  On  we 
go,  up  one  street,  down  another.  Shrieks, 
cries,  whoops,  yells !  Every  one  galloping 
like  the  wind,  past  Annie  Dickson's,  round 
the  church  corner ;  men  cheering  and  shout 
ing,  and  just  ahead  a  great  dark,  heaving,  bel 
lowing  mass — the  buffaloes.  Then  Lightning 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        155 

and  Pitchfire  hump  themselves,  we  whipping 
and  screaming,  just  as  mad  as  every  one  else. 

(Here  Lou  begins  to  gesticulate,  and  DICK  gives 
a  shout,  as  though  carried  away  by  excite 
ment ;  both  follow  MADGE'S  description 
ivith  appropriate  gestures.} 

MADGE.  Out  goes  the  lariat — 

DICK.  Ili!  hi!     Steady! 

MADGE.  Straight  as  a  shot,  pliable  as  a 
rope  ;  turning,  twisting,  drawing,  pulling,  and 
he  is  down  on  his  knees  helpless,  the  biggest 
buffalo  of  the  herd.  That  was  my  cast,  and 
that  is  what  /  call  living. 

DICK  (aside).  Bravo,  Madge !  You're  a 
positive  genius. 

LADY  FANNY  (aside).  For  a  Comanche — 
yes. 

Lou.  Don't  be  startled,  Duchess,  my  little 
sister  is  so  impulsive ;  but  then  we  are  all  so 
excitable  on  the  subject  of — er — buffaloes; 
they  take  the  place  of  foxes  with  us,  with  the 
added  zest  of  danger.  Of  course,  very  few 
girls  make  such  a  ten-strike  as  Madge ;  and 
you  bet  pa  is  proud  of  it.  He  had  that  buf 
falo's  horns  cased  in  gold,  tipped  with  sap- 


156       THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

phires,  engraved  with  Madge's  name,  the 
date,  etc.,  and  hung  up  in  the  hall. 

DUCHESS.  And  you  mean  to  say  that  these 
monsters  are  often  seen  in  the  very  streets  of 
Chicago  ?  Where  do  they  come  from  ? 

DICK.  They  come  from  St.  Louis  generally, 
a  sort  of  suburb  to  Chicago.  (Laughs  to 
Lou.)  That  is  the  reason  the  girls  go 
heeled. 

DUCHESS.  Heeled  !     What  is  that? 

MADGE  (tapping  her  weapons).  Armed,  he 
means.  Any  time  you  are  out  shopping, 
you  may  see  a  hundred  head  of  buffaloes 
tearing  down  the  avenue,  trampling  every 
thing  flat  before  them.  No  stops  for  refresh 
ments  ;  so  it  is  well  to  be  ready. 

DUCHESS.  Horrible !  And  to  think  that 
Howard  remained  there  three  months  ! 

Lou.  That  is  the  reason  all  the  nurses  in 
Chicago  are  men  ;  no  female  could  get  a  child 
out  of  the  way  in  time.  It  is  all  a  smart  man 
can  do  to  get  the  children  safely  to  and  from 
the  City  Playground,  where  they  are  obliged 
to  play  by  law. 

DUCHESS.  Play  by  law  ? 

MADGE.  Why,  of  course ;  even  our  alder- 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        157 

men  could  not  allow  the  little  innocents  to 
play  about  streets,  door-steps,  or  gardens, 
liable  to  be  stamped  by  buffaloes  at  any  mo 
ment. 

(DiCK  goes  off  in  a  wild  fit  of  laughter.) 

DUCHESS  (severely).  I  see  no  reason  for 
mirth.  (Shudders.)  It  must  be  a  dreadful 
country. 

LADY  FANNY.  It  is  strange  Howard  said 
nothing  of  this. 

Lou  (innocently).  Did  he  not?  That  is 
odd  indeed. 

MADGE.  Oh,  come  off,  Lou !  I'm  dead 
tired  of  all  this  talking,  and  besides — 

Lou.  Yes,  of  course ;  we  are  expected  to 
show  up  at  Lady  Monteith's. 

DUCHESS.  Lady  Monteith's,  young  ladies, 
when  you  dine  with  me,  and  dinner  is  about 
to  be  announced  ? 

MADGE  (dropping  her  burlesque  manner).  I 
am  sure  you  will  pardon  us,  Duchess,  but  we 
are  savages,  you  know,  and  only  eat  bread  and 
salt  with  our  well-wishers,  not  to  mention  that 
we  shall  hardly  find  time  to  get  into  proper 
dinner  gowns  and  drive  to  Lady  Monteith's. 


158       THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE. 

DUCHESS.  I  do  not  comprehend  you,  Miss 
Dayton. 

MADGE.  It  is  very  simple,  Duchess.  You, 
or  perhaps  I  should  say  your  daughter,  Lady 
Fanny,  preferred  something  in  the  Zulu  or 
Choctaw  style — prairie  princesses,  pure  and 
simple,  the  genuine  American  a  la  Buffalo 
Bill — and  we  have  been  doing  our  best  to 
enact  the  part. 

Lou.  While  Lady  Monteith  only  expects 
the  veneered  savage  in  the  Worth  gown. 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN.  By  Jove  ! 

DUCHESS  (looking  at  LADY  FANNY).  What 
is  all  this  ?  I  am  bewildered  ! 

Lou  (holding  out  LADY  FANNY'S  note).  If 
any  further  explanation  is  needed,  this  note 
may  supply  it.  (To  DUCHESS.)  It  was  writ 
ten  apparently  by  Lady  Fanny,  and  by  an 
unfortunate  accident  enclosed,  instead  of  an 
invitation  to  dinner,  in  an  envelope  directed 
to  me. 

LADY  FANNY  (snatches  note).  Good  gra 
cious  !  My  note  to  Sophie  ! 

DUCHESS.  What  will  Howard  say  ? 

(Both  girls  smile;  courtesy  low  to  DUCHESS.) 


THE  VENEERED  SAVAGE.        159 

DICK  (coining  forward.}  Permit  me  also  to 
say  farewell,  Duchess. 

LADY  FANNY.  But,  Mr.  Majendie,  you  dine 
with  us. 

DICK  (bowing}.  Pardon.     My  cousins. 

(DiCK,  MADGE,  and  Lou  retire  backward   to 
door.} 

LORD  ALGERNON  PENRYHN.  By  Jove  ! 

(Curtain  falls  on  tableau.  DUCHESS  pointing 
to  letter,  LADY  FANNY  pouting,  LORD  AL 
GERNON  PENRYHN  staring  through  glass  at 
the  Americans,  who  are  grouped  in  door, 
making  their  final  bows.} 


TULU. 


CHARACTERS. 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  TOEDMAG A  law  unto  herself— 

and  others. 

LORD  BLAZONBERRIE Her  son,  well  descended  of 

course,  and  still  descending.  In  love  with  "  Old 
Bob's  "  Petroleum. 

JACK  RYDKR An  ascending  American,  in  love  with 

"Old  Bob's"  Petrolia,  his  cousin. 

PETROLIA  SEERSUCKER "  Old  Bob's  "  eldest.  A 

charming  American  atrocity — "  on  approval." 

TULU  SEERSUCKER "  Old  Bob's  "  youngest.  An  ir 
repressible  American  atrocity.  "Minds  no  one 
but  papa." 

DICK  CHETWYN Nephew  to  the  Duchess,  a  photo 
graph  fiend. 

ROBINSON The  butler,  one  of  the  props  of  the  Brit 
ish  Constitution. 

THE  CAMERA A  most  taking  character. 


TULU. 


ACT  I. 

Library  in  Toedmag  Castle.  Entrances  with 
portieres,  c.  and  L.  ;  fireplace  across  R.  u. 
corner,  sofa  by  it;  desk  with  picture  over  it, 
R.  F.,  two  chairs  near ;  tete-a-tete,  c. ;  tea- 
table  and  seats  L.  u.  corner,  piano-lamp  by  it. 
Curtain  rises  on  ROBINSON,  arranging  tea- 
table. 

ROB.  'Ere's  a  state  hof  things  !  Lord  Bla- 
zonberrie  a-goin'  to  marry  a  Hamerican,  hand 
the  Duchess  a-'oldin'  'is  'at.  Hawful!  puf- 
fectly  hawful !  The  haristocracy  hof  Heng- 
land  is  played  hout,  hand  money  rules  the 
waves. 

TULU  (running  in,  c.).  Holloa,  Robinson, 
where's  everybody  ? 

ROB.  The  Duchess  his  hup  in  'er  hapart- 


164  TULU. 

ment;   Lord   Blazonberrie,   Miss  Seersucker, 
hand  Mr.  Ryder,  his  hout  hin  the  kennels— 

TULU.  I  know  all  that;  I  mean  where's 
Mr.  Dick  ? 

ROB.  Beg  parding,  miss,  but  you  says, 
"  Where's  heverybody  ?"  Hand  Mr.  Dick,  Vs 
not  heverybody. 

TULU.  He's  the  only  jolly  one  in  the  house. 
I  never  saw  such  a  poky  lot.  I'm  awfully 
hungry,  give  me  some  grub. 

ROB.  (stiffly).  'Elp  yourself,  miss.  (Passes 
wafers.) 

TULU  (talcing  handful).  Thanks.  (Curls 
up  on  sofa,  R.)  I  say,  Robinson,  you're  what 
they  call  a  feudal  retainer,  aren't  you  ? 

ROB.  A  w'ich.  miss  ? 

TULU.  Feudal  retainer.  I  mean  you've 
been  in  the  family  years  and  years. 

ROB.  I've  served  the  Toedmag  family  for 
ty-one  year,  miss.  I  took  service  under  the 
father  of  the  present  duke,  Lord  Blazonber- 
rie's  father. 

TULU.  Gracious!  And  was  the  Duchess 
here  all  the  time  ?  I  wonder  you  are  alive. 

ROB;  The  Duchess  'as  honly  been  hin  hour 
family  thirty-two  year.  She  was  the  Lady 


TULU.  165 

'Ildegarde  Lyona  Decima  Iladela  'Unting- 
tower,  the  toast  hand  belle  hof  the  west  hof 
Hengland. 

TULU.  Toast  hand  belle,  was  she?  Well, 
she's  got  nicely  over  that  part.  Thirty -two, 
an(l — she  Was  pretty  old  when  she  married, 
wasn't  she  ? 

ROB.  Couldn't  h undertake  to  say,  miss. 
(Smiles.) 

TULU.  You  know  she  was.  I  bet  she  came 
over  with  William  the  Conqueror  ! 

DICK  (outside).  Robinson  ! 

TULU.  Mr.  Dick  is  coming  !     (Jumps  up.) 

DICK  (outside).  Lend  a  hand  with  this 
beastly  camera. 

.ROB.  Yes,  sir;  d'rectly,  sir.  (Aside.) 
Blow  'is  beastly  camery  !  (Exit,  c.) 

TULU.  Now  for  some  fun  !     (Exit,  c.) 

(DiCK  enters,  c.,  followed  by  TULU,  carrying 
box ;  ROBINSON  carrying  camera.) 

DICK  (going  to  L.  F.).  Set  it  down  gently, 
facing  the  fireplace.  (RoB.  places  it  backward, 
L.)  No,  no,  stupid — the  other  way  !  Don't  get 
red  in  the  face,  Robinson,  it  don't  suit  your 
style  of  beauty.  Where's  t]iat  box  of  plates  ? 


166  TULU. 

TULU.  Here  they  are,  Mr.  Dick. 

DICK.  Tulu,  I  distinctly  told  you  not  to 
touch  any  of  my  things.  Little  girls  should 
obey  their  elders.  (Business  of  arranging 
camera). 

TULU.  Little  girls  !  I'm  fifteen,  and  I  guess 
I  could  take  pictures  as  well  as  you,  even  if 
you  are  eighteen.  Saunders  says  you've 
spoiled  sixty-eight  plates  this  month. 

DICK.  Saunders  is  an  ass.  It  was  only 
sixty,  and  the  fault  of  the  plates  every  time. 

TULU.  Oh,  Mr.  Dick,  please  let  me  take  a 
picture.  I  looked  through  the  spy-hole  this 
morning,  and  I  know  I  could  do  it. 

DICK.  Oh,  you  did,  did  you  ?  I'll  trouble 
you  not  to  look  again ;  this  camera  cost 
money. 

TULU.  Thought  it  was  given  away  with  a 
pound  of  tea.  (Sits  on  tete-a-tete,  c.)  Say, 
Mr.  Dick,  will  you  ever  be  a  lord  ? 

DICK.  I  hardly  think  so.  My  father 
blooms  like  a  Christmas  rose,  not  to  mention 
three  elder  brothers. 

TULU.  That's  too  bad.  You'd  make  a 
lovely  lord. 

DICK.  Shouldn't  I?     Now,  Tulu,  I'll  tell 


TULU.  167 

you  what  you  can  do.  Throw  yourself  into 
an  attitude,  and  I'll  take  your  picture,  with 
Robinson  in  the  background. 

ROB.  Beg  parding,  Mr.  Dick,  but  I  ain't 
particular  about  being  took. 

TULU.  Don't  be  a  chump,  Robinson.  Ev 
erybody  wants  to  be  took. 

DICK.  Of  course  they  do  ;  and  a  most  lov 
able  vanity  it  is  to  the  amateur  photographer. 
I  say,  Robinson,  do  you  recollect  the  time 
Blazonberrie  and  I  sent  your  picture  to  the 
cook,  with  a  love-letter,  and  the  jolly  row  we 
had? 

TULU.  Did  she  accept  him,  Mr.  Dick  ? 

DICK.  Like  a  shot.  There's  where  the 
trouble  came  in.  Those  were  great  days,  eh, 
Robinson  ? 

ROB.  You  was  a  most  hawful  larky  boy, 
Mr.  Dick. 

DICK.  Was  I  not  ?  And  to  think  I  should 
be  the  main-stay  of  your  old  age,  and  take 
your  picture  myself  !  Queer  ! 

ROB.  Beg  parding,  but  it  certainly  do  seem 
queer  for  a  young  gentleman  to  mess  with  a 
picture-machine,  like  'e  was  a  cad  hin  a  cart, 
taking  'em  hoff  hat  shilling  a  'ead. 


168  TULU. 

TULU.  What  stuff !  Every  one  home  has 
a  Kodak. 

ROE.   His  them  the  Hindians,  miss  ? 

TULU  (laughing).  Them's  the  Hindians. 
(Winks  to  DICK.)  They're  like  your  "ti 
gers  "  on  this  side.  Here  !  I'll  rig  you  up 
like  our  man  Friday,  and  Mr.  Dick  shall  take 
us. 

DICK.  I'm  in  that. 

TULU  (drapes  ROBINSON  in  afghan,  pins  it, 
rolls  his  head  in  a  tidy).  There  you  are ! 
Now  wave  the  tongs  about. 

ROB.  S'pose  her  ladyship  were  to  come  in. 

TULU.  She's  wigging  her  maid  up-stairs. 

DICK.  You're  safe  enough.  Go  over  to 
the  fire. 

TULU  (scowling  furiously).  Now  I'm  the 
Duchess. 

ROB.  Lor,  what  a  larky  young  lady  !  Ha ! 
ha !  ha  !  S'posing  I  were  to  prance  habout 
a  bit — so.  'Ow  would  that  be?  (Prances.) 

DICK.  Superb !  You  ought  to  go  on  the 
stage,  Robinson.  Keep  your  nose  well  curl 
ed,  Tulu,  and  we'll  call  this  "English  lady 
watching  a  Kodak  dance."  (Focuses.) 

TULU.    Keep  on   prancing,  Robinson,  and 


TULU.  169 

I'll  be  saying,  "  Atrocious !"  as  the  Duchess 
does.     Now,  then.     Atrocious ! 
DICK.  Capital !     One — two — 

(Enter  DUCHESS,  L.,  behind  DICK.) 

DUCHESS.   Atrocious ! 

ROB.  (dropping  tongs).  'Orror !  the  Duch 
ess  ! 

TULU.  What  fun !  (Kneels  on  tete-a-tete, 
facing  DUCHESS.) 

DICK  (taking  out  his  head).  What  the 
deuce —  Oh>  Aunt  Hildegarde,  you've 
spoiled  a  plate. 

DUCHESS  (eying  ROB.  through  glass).  Rob 
inson,  remove  that  afghan. 

ROB.  (tugging  at  afghan).  I  'umbly  'ope 
your  ladyship  will  kindly  overlook  this. 
(Aside.)  Blast  the  pins  !  (Aloud.)  Mr.  Dick 
he  inviggled  me  hinto  hit.  (Aside.)  Hit 
won't  come  hoff ! 

DUCHESS.  Am  I  to  speak  twice  ?  Remove 
those  idiotic  things. 

ROB.  They  won't  come  hoff.     (Tugs.) 

DUCHESS.  Then  retire. 

ROB.  Yes,  my  lady.  (Exit,  c.,  afghan  drag 
ging  from  coat-tails.) 


170  TULU. 

TULU.  Oh,  how  funny!  I  shall  die! 
(Laughs.} 

DUCHESS.  You  are  an  ill-bred  child,  and 
should  be  in  the  school-room. 

TULU.  Child  !     I'm  fifteen. 

DUCHESS  (severely}.  You  will  oblige  me  by 
finding  your  sister  and  telling  her  I  am  wait 
ing,  waiting  tea  for  her. 

TULU.  I'll  fetch  her.  (Runs  out,  c.,  laugh 
ing.} 

DUCHESS  (sitting  by  table}.  These  girls  are 
absolutely  unendurable.  That  overgrown 
hoyden  is  bad  enough,  but  her  sister  is — 
atrocious ! 

DICK  (sitting  on  tete-a-tete}.  Miss  Seersuck 
er  is  immense. 

DUCHESS.  Immense !  on  the  contrary,  she 
is  under-sized  ;  all  Americans  are. 

DICK.  I  meant  she  was  no  end  jolly. 

DUCHESS.  Then  why  don't  you  speak 
English,  and  say  so  ? 

DICK.  Because  Amerikish  is  more  express 
ive. 

DUCHESS.  Since  your  visit  to  the  States 
you  are  low,  Dick — positively  flippant. 

DICK.  I  say.  Aunt  Hildegarde,  why  don't 


TULU.  171 

you  let  up  on  Miss  Seersucker  a  bit  ?  I  don't 
see  why  you're  always  jumping  on  her. 

DUCHESS.  Because  she  is  a  most  presum 
ing  young  person,  and  her  impertinence  drives 
me  wild.  Yesterday  she  compared  our 
"  smart  set "  to  her  friends  at  home.  Fancy  ! 

DICK.  They're  much  the  same,  except  that 
while  the  natural  British  expression  is  smart 
ly  vacuous,  the  American  has  to  repress  an 
ill-bred  intelligence  and  keenness  from  his 
features  before  he  is  good  form. 

DUCHESS.  Yo*u  are  trying  to  be  witty. 

DICK.  I  always  am  witty.  By-the-way, 
has  Blazonberrie  made  any  running  with 
Miss  Seersucker? 

DUCHESS.  He  has  not  yet  proposed,  if  you 
mean  that.  Of  course,  he  must  do  it  event 
ually,  as  his  debts  must  be  paid.  But  it's  a 
sacrifice. 

DICK  (rising;  goes  to  fire).  Sacrifice! 

DUCHESS.  What  else  would  you  call  it? 
This  girl's  father  is  called  "  old  Bob"  in 
those  American  newspapers.  I  have  seen  an 
article  myself,  giving  a  sketch  of  his  life, 
with  a  woodcut  of  a  wide -mouthed  man, 
headed,  "Old  Bob  Interviewed."  Of  course 


172  TULU. 

he  eats  pie  for  breakfast,  with  his  knife ;  all 
Americans  do.  And  he  says  (lowers  voice) 
"  By  the  jumping  Moses  !"  —  Blazonberrie 
heard  him. 

DICK.  What  a  catalogue  of  crimes ! 

DUCHESS.  Is  it  not  fearful  ?  Think  of 
poor  Blazonberrie  with  such  a  father-in-law ! 
Picture  that  atrocious  creature  sitting  here 
chewing  tobacco  and  telling  how  he  entered 
New  York  a  barefoot  boy,  and  now  rolls  out 
in  his  private  car  ! 

DICK.  Yes,  with  the  Duke  opposite  telling 
how  he  fattened  up  his  prize  hogs. 

DUCHESS.  The  Duke's  disgusting  fad  does 
not  excuse  the  coarseness  of  this  American. 
Poor  Blazonberrie ! 

DICK.  Jove !  Blazonberrie  is  by  way  of 
having  luck.  If  old  Bob  pays  sixty  thousand 
pounds  for  him,  and  gives  him  his  pretty 
daughter,  he  isn't  a  bad  old  chap.  Hand 
made  and  a  bit  rough,  but  better  for  wear 
than  some  of  our  "  hand-me-down  "  dukes. 

DUCHESS.  Hand-me-down  dukes ! 

DICK.  Yes ;  a  lot  of  fellows  all  cut  after 
the  same  devilish  old  and  bad  pattern,  wait 
ing  to  be  sold. 


TULU. 


173 


DUCHESS.  You  bad  better  call  yourself  an 
anarchist  at  once,  Dick. 

DICK.  I'm  too  fond  of  soap  and  water  to 
be  an  anarchist,  not  to  mention — 

(Enter  BLAZONBERRIE,  c.) 

BLAZ.  Take  yourself  off  a  moment,  will 
you,  Dick  ?  I  want  a  word  with  the  Duchess. 

DICK.  Certainly.  I'll  join  the  others. 
(Aside.)  A  row.  (Exit,  c.) 

DUCHESS.  What  is  the  trouble  now,  Bla- 
zonberrie  ? 

BLAZ.  (going  to  fire).  Simply  that  you  must 
manage  to  control  your  beastly  temper,  and 
be  more  civil  to  Miss  Seersucker. 

DUCHESS.  My  beastly  temper !     (Rises.} 

BLAZ.  Yes.  You  invite  the  girl  here  to 
give  me  a  chance  to  propose,  then  insult  her 
steadily.  Regarded  as  a  mother-in-law,  you 
are  absolutely  appalling. 

DUCHESS  (sits  on  tete-a-tete).  Oh,  blame  me. 

BLAZ.  I  certainly  will.  Then  there's  Ry 
der.  Could  you  not  see  he  was  dead  spoons 
on  Miss  Seersucker  ?  What  did  you  ask  him 
for? 

DUCHESS.  Because  I  did  not  wish  any  eli- 


174  TULU. 

gible  men  here  to  interfere  with  you.  He  is 
quite  a  lion  since  his  book  came  out ;  and, 
being  the  Seersucker  person's  cousin,  is  out 
of  the  field. 

BLAZ.  Third  cousins  can  marry. 

DUCHESS  (fanning  herself).  Nonsense ! 
This  girl  has  been  sent  here  to  marry  a  ti 
tle  ;  yours  is  the  best  in  the  market ;  it  is 
quite  a  matter  of  business.  She  could  as 
well  stay  at  home  if  she  were  to  marry  her 
cousin. 

BLAZ.  Well,  go  on,  go  on,  and  when  you've 
driven  her  from  the  house,  do  not  be  amazed 
if  I  do  something  desperate. 

DUCHESS  (starting  up).  Great  heavens ! 
you  do  not  mean  to  marry  an  actress ! 

BLAZ.  No ;  I  mean  to  earn  money  for  my 
self. 

DUCHESS.  You  do  not  know  how. 

BLAZ.  I  can  drive.  I  will  put  the  racing 
stud  into  harness,  start  a  livery -stable,  and 
drive  a  hansom  myself.  It's  quite  the  thing 
now  to  support  yourself. 

DUCHESS.  Think  of  the  disgrace  to  the 
family  ! 

BLAZ.  Think  of  the  fun  for  me  ! 


TULU.  175 

DUCHESS.  This  girl  shall  marry  you.  I 
will  crawl,  cringe,  flatter — anything  to  prevent 
such  a  disgrace.  A  Toedmag  earn  money ! 
Atrocious !  (Laughter  outside.) 

BLAZ.  They  are  coming  in.  Now  recollect 
yourself.  Talk!  Yes,  I  fancy  to-morrow 
would  be  a  good  day — 

(DUCHESS  goes  to  tea-table.     Enter  PETROLIA, 
DICK,  RYDER,  and  TULU,  c.) 

BLAZ.  We  were  speaking  of  our  trip  to 
the  Abbey,  Miss  Seersucker.  How  would 
to-morrow  do  2  Allow  me.  (Helps  her  take 
off  her  wraps.) 

PET.  Thanks.  Any  day  will  be  delightful. 
I  adore  ruins.  That's  why  I'm  so  fond  of 
the  English  aristocracy. 

BLAZ.  (laughing).  We  are  thankful  to  be 
liked  for  any  reason.  At  least,  I  am.  (Goes 
to  fire.) 

(TuLU,  JACK,  and  T)ICK  follow  ;  talk.) 

PET.  Duchess,  Tulu  tells  me  I  have  kept 
you  waiting.  Pardon  me,  and  blame  those 
fascinating  puppies.  Don't  you  just  perfect 
ly  adore  puppies?  (Sits  on  tete-a-tete.) 


176  TULU. 

DUCHESS  (severely).  Young  ladies  did  not 
affect  mannish  tastes  in  my  day,  Miss  Seer 
sucker. 

PET.  I  see :  not  being  born  in  the  dog- 
days,  you  let  the  men  go  to  the  dogs  alone. 
Our  ancestresses  were  a  slow  crowd,  don't 
you  think  ? 

DUCHESS  (eying  her  through  glass).  Our 
ancestresses  ? 

PET.  Pardon ;  I  meant  mine.  I  forget 
who  you  were  before  the  Duke  married  you. 
Were  you  anybody  ? 

DUCHESS.  I,  anybody  ! 

PET.  Yes.  It's  so  puzzling  over  here  to 
meet  three  or  four  hundred  pounds  of  wom 
an,  with  a  society  smile  and  a  Felix  gown, 
and  be  told  it's  "  nobody."  Makes  one  feel 
like  a  trance  medium,  don't  you  think  ? 

(RoB.  brings   in  kettle,  muffins,  lights   spirit- 
lamp,  retires.) 

DUCHESS.  I  know  nothing  of  such  people. 

PET.  What's  the  matter  with  Madam  Bla- 
vatsky  ? 

DUCHESS.  I  have  not  heard  that  anything 
ailed  her,  and  fail  to  see  your  point. 


TULU.  177 

PET.  Points  are  made  with  a  brad-awl  over 
here,  I  notice. 

DUCHESS.  Atrocious ! 

PET.  Oh,  you  were  born  so.  There's  my 
receipt  for  punch. 

BLAZ.  (coming  forward).  What  sort,  Miss 
Seersucker  ? 

PET.  London  Punch,  my  lord.  No  one 
ever  gets  the  idea. 

BLAZ.  I  am  sure  we  could  not  fail  to, 
mother. 

DUCHESS.  Certainly.     Pray  tell  us  it. 

PET.  To  one  evaporated  British  joke  add 
four  quarts  of  the  milk  of  human-kindness. 
Keep  in  a  dark,  dry  place  for  a  year  till  it 
swells  to  ten  pages.  Garnish  with  Pears' 
Soap  ads.,  and  there  you  are. 

DUCHESS.  Atro — um — very  bright.  (Pours 
tea.) 

BLAZ.  Deuced  clever.    Capital !    (Laughs.') 

PET.  (crossing  to  fire).  What's  going  on 
over  here  ? 

BLAZ.  AVhat  the  deuce  did  she  mean  ? 
(  To  DUCHESS.  )  Call  Ryder  away  from 
her. 

DUCHESS.  Mr.  Ryder,  may  I  give  you  a 
12 


178  TULU. 

cnp  of  tea  ?     Blazonberrie,  hand  this  to  Miss 
Seersucker.     Dick,  help  Miss  Tulu. 

(BLAZONBERRIE  carries  tea  to  PETROLIA.    RY 
DER  comes  to  table.) 

JACK.  No  cream,  Duchess.  Thanks.  (Starts 
to  fireplace  again.) 

DUCHESS.  Sit  down  here,  Mr.  Ryder. 

JACK.  Delighted,  Duchess.  (Sits  staring 
at  PET.) 

(DiCK  and  TULU  come  to  table.) 

DICK.  Are  you  in  this,  Tulu  ? 

TULU.  Yep.     Have  some  tea  "  on  me." 

DICK.  A  cupful  of  sugar,  and  a  lump  of 
tea,  Aunt  Hildegarde. 

TULU.  Oh,  come  off,  Mr.  Dick,  I'm  not  a 
baby.  No  sugar  at  all,  Duchess;  just  a 
slice  of  lemon,  as  Smithy  takes  it. 

DUCHESS.  Why  do  you  call  your  sister 
Smithy  ? 

TULU.  Oh,  just  for  roots,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  What  language  does  this  child 
speak  ? 

DICK.  Amerikish,  Aunt  Hildegarde.  Come 
over  here,  Tulu. 


TULU.  179 

(He  and  TULU  sit  by  desk.    Business  of  quar 
relling  over  tea  and  muffins.} 

JACK.  Tulu  amazes  you,  Duchess,  does  she 
not?  She  is  a  nice  little  thing,  barring  her 
slanginess. 

DUCHESS.  I  simply  do  not  comprehend 
her.  But  I  wish  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Ryder,  how 
very  pleased  I  am  to  have  you  here.  To  me 
authors,  artists,  musicians,  and  even  actors 
are  very  interesting. 

JACK.  You  are  very  kind,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  No,  I  am  simply  broad  in  my 
views — much  more  so  than  the  Duke — and  I 
study  human  nature  in  all  classes. 

JACK.  Pardon,  my  cousin  has  no  muffins. 
(Rises,  takes  plates.) 

DUCHESS.  Blazonberrie  will  wait  upon  her. 
But  come  into  the  drawing-room  ;  I  have  a 
great  deal  to  say  to  you.  Come. 

JACK.  Delighted. 

(Exit,  L.,  with  DUCHESS.) 

PET.  Where  are  they  going  ? 
TULU.   The   Duchess    is    going    to    pump 
Jack. 

PET.  Tulu! 


180.  TULU. 

TULU.  You  can't  down  me,  Smithy.  You're 
only  four  years  older  than  I. 

BLAZ.  Declaration  of  Independence  num 
ber  two. 

TULU.  Yes;  I  only  mind  papa.  Say, 
Smithy,  tell  our  fortunes. 

PET.  Anything  to  keep  you  quiet.  Please 
get  me  a  pack  of  cards,  Lord  Blazonberrie. 
(Comes  forward  to  tete-a-tete.}  Who  will  be 
first? 

DICK.  My  face  is  my  fortune. 

TULU.  Rough  luck,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Dick  ? 

DICK.  I  say,  I  thought  we  were  chums. 

PET.  Tulu,  you  are  rude. 

DICK.  Never  mind.  (BLAZ.  stands  behind 
PET.;  winks  to  DICK.)  What  are  you  wink 
ing  for,  Blazonberrie  ? 

BLAZ.  Something  in  my  eye.  (Gives  cards 
to  PET.) 

DICK.  In  your  eye! 

TULU.  What  a  noodle  !  Come  on  up-stairs. 
(Pulls  him  down  F.)  Four  is  a  regular  jam. 
He  wants  to  see  Petrolia  alone.  Get  the 
idea  ?  Alone. 

DICK.  By  Jove !  Tulu,  wouldn't  you  like 
to  help  me  fetch  down  the  things?  You 


TULU.  181 

know    I    am    to    take   a   flash -light  picture. 
(Aside.)  How  was  that — natural  ? 

TULU.  Elegant.  Come  on,  and  I'll  squeeze 
the  bulb.  (Runs  out,  c.  E.) 

DICK.  Not  much  !     (Follows,  c.  E.) 

BLAZ.  May  I  hear  my  fortune  now,  Miss 
Seersucker?  (Sits  on  tete-a-tete.) 

PET.  Certainly.  Shuffle  the  cards,  cut  three 
times  with  your  left  hand,  and  keep  your  mind 
on  your  wish,  your  best.  (Gives  him  cards.) 

BLAZ.  (shuffling  cards).  I  have  but  one 
wish,  as  you  know,  Miss  Seersucker. 

PET.  I?  Oh,  dear,  no.  You  forget  I've 
only  known  you  three  months. 

BLAZ.  (sentimentally).  It  seems  like  years. 

PET.  (coquettishly).  Thanks.  I  really  had 
no  idea  I  made  time  hang  so  heavily.  How 
unkind  to  tell  me. 

BLAZ.  You  know  what  I  mean. 

PET.  (archly}.  I  wish  I  did. 

BLAZ.  AYhat  do  you  wish  me  to  under 
stand  ? 

PET.  All  you  conveniently  can.  But  we 
must  not  keep  Fate  waiting.  (Takes  cards, 
7&oks  them  over.) 

BLAZ.  (pulling  his  mustache).  Jove  ! 


182  TULU. 

PET.  How  funny  !     Here  is  a  horse. 

BLAZ.  In  the  cards  ? 

PET.  (shoiving  card).  There  he  is — a  trot 
ter.  He  is  to  race ;  there  is  money  on  him ; 
but  beware  !  following  him  come  disappoint 
ment  and  loss  of  money. 

BLAZ.  You  are  a  witch,  Miss  Seersucker. 
Is  he  a  bay,  or  can't  you  tell  ? 

PET.  The  cards  tell  everything.  He  is  a 
blonde.  Beware  of  a  red  roan  steed.  See, 
here  is  the  red  roan  steed  card.  (Shows  card.) 

BLAZ.  It  must  be  Cutaway. 

PET.  Doubtless  it  is.     Don't  back  him. 

BLAZ.  I  have,  worse  luck  ! 

PET.  Never  mind ;  here  is  a  blond  woman 
with  a  good  heart  for  you.  You  seem  to 
run  to  blondes.  She  brings  you  money.  Oh! 
such  lots  and  lots  of  money  !  Who  is  she  ? 
Have  you  a  blond  aunt,  and  has  she  money  ? 

BLAZ.  I'd  rather  have  her  heart. 

PET.  Your  aunt's  ? 

BLAZ.  No,  no  ;  you — the  girl's  in  the  cards. 
Do  I  get  my  wish  ? 

PET.  I  think  not.  A  tall,  dark  woman  in 
terferes,  and  the  end  is  —  disappointment. 
(Rises.) 


TULU.  183 

BLAZ.  (rising).  Miss  Seersucker — Petrolia ! 
Tell  me,  is  there  anything  between  you  and 
Ryder? 

PET.  (looking  down).  Between  Jack  and  I  ? 
Er — well,  yes,  there  is — 

BLAZ.  Engagement?     Understanding? 

PET.  Oh  no.  Only  a  portiere,  and  the 
Duchess's  head.  That  is  all.  Why  do  you 
ask? 

BLAZ.  Then  I  may — er — don't  yon — 

(TuLU  and  DICK  enter,  c.  E.) 

TULU.  Here  we  are  again. 

BLAZ.  Oh,  confound  it!     (Goes  to  fire.) 

DICK.  Call  the  others;  we're  all  ready, 
Tulu. 

TULU  (going  to  door).  Come  on,  Jack! 
Duchess ! 

PET.  Everything  all  right  this  time,  Mr. 
Chetwyn  ? 

DICK.  Yes,  I  have  remembered  everything. 
(Business  of  arranging  camera.) 

PET.  Are  you  going  to  hold  the  plate  in 
your  hand  ?  Is  that  a  new  way  ? 

DICK.  Oh,  I  am  a  thick  head !  (Puts  in 
plate.} 


184  TULU. 

(DUCHESS  and  JACK  enter.] 

JACK  (going  to  tete-a-tete).  Petrolia  and  I 
will  look  well  here,  don't  you  think  !  (Sits.) 

PET.  Yes ;  we'll  sit  here. 

DUCHESS.  Oh  no !  Miss  Seersucker,  be 
kind  enough  to  stand  by  Blazonberrie.  Mr. 
Ryder,  you  and  I  will  stand  here.  (Crosses 
to  c.  E.) 

JACK.  Delighted.     (Follows  her.) 

TULU.  I'll  sit  here.     (Sits  by  desk.) 

DICK  (focusing).  This  is  immense.  A  go 
from  Goville ! 

DUCHESS.  Dick,  do  not  use  those  odious 
Americanisms. 

JACK.  Pray  consider  our  feelings  as  odious 
Americans,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  I  do  not  refer  to  you,  Mr.  Ryder. 
But  I  understand  there  are  social  stratas  even 
in  the  States,  and  Dick  gravitates  naturally 
to  the  lowest. 

DICK  (taking  out  head).  I  like  that ! 

TULU.  Mr.  Dick  got  in  with  a  lot  of  jays 
at  home,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  And  what  is  a  jay  ? 

PET.  Tuln,  I  insist  on  your  being  quiet. 


TULU.  185 

TULU.  Smithy,  I  won't.  You  know  what 
a  flubdub  is,  Duchess  ? 

DUCHESS.  Indeed,  I  do  not. 

JACK.   My  dear  Tulu  ! 

TULU.  I'm  awake,  Jack.  A  flubdub  is  a 
no  count  fellow  who  don't  pay  his  poker 
debts ;  and  a  jay  is  the  same,  only  more  so. 
Petrolia  says  there  are  lots  of  them  over 
here,  only  you  call  them — 

PET  (interrupting].  Jack,  do  stop  her. 

JACK.  Tulu,  you  are  rather  young  to  lead 
the  talk.  (Cfttsses,  sits  by  her.)  Don't  you 
see  Chetwyn  is  waiting  ? 

DICK.  I  should  say  I  was.  Now,  Blazon- 
berrie,  close  the  blinds,  and  we're  off.  And  for 
gracious'  sake,  don't  wink  when  the  flash  comes. 

(DiCK  focuses,  everybody  poses,  BLAZONBERRIE 
goes  to  window,  is  about  to  close  blind,  when 
ROBINSON  enters,  gives  jewel-box  and  letter  to 
DUCHESS.) 

ROB.  Beg  parding,  your  ladyship,  but  the 
young  man  from  the  bank  brought  these,  and 
wishes  a  receipt. 

DUCHESS.  Place  the  box  on  the  table. 
Blazonberrie,  kindly  write  a  receipt. 


186  TULU. 

BLAZ.  Certainly.     (Crosses  to  desk,  writes.) 
DUCHESS.  Dick,  tins   absurd  picture  -must 

wait. 

DICK.    Of   course !     I   never   saw  such   a 

jolly  disobliging  lot.     (Crosses  to  TULU.) 

(JACK  goes  to  fire,  talks  to  PETROLIA  ;  they 
turn  their  backs  on  room.  BLAZONBERRIE 
gives  receipt  to  ROBINSON,  who  retires.  DUCH 
ESS  points  to  couple.} 

BLAZ.  Jove  !     Call  her  over  here. 

DUCHESS  (opening  box).  Miss  Seersucker, 
would  you  care  to  see  our  family  jewels  ? 

PET.  Indeed  I  should.  I  adore  jewels. 
(Comes  to  table,  followed  by  JACK.) 

DUCHESS.  Some  of  these  have  quite  a  his 
tory. 

PET.  That  will  interest  you,  Jack. 

JACK.  Yes,  ancient  jewelry  is  quite  a  fad 
of  mine. 

DUCHESS.  This  is  modern  ;  a  gift  from  the 
Duke  on  my  wedding-day.  (Hands  her  neck 
lace.) 

PET.  Oh,  how  perfectly  gorgeous  ! 

BLAZ.  Come  over  to  the  glass  and  try  them 
on,  Miss  Seersucker. 


187 

(They  go  to  mirror  over  fireplace  ;  BLAZONBER- 

RIE  assists  PET.  to  fasten  necklace  •  she  coquets 

with  him.) 

JACK  (aside).  That  settles  it.  Diamonds 
are  trumps.  Bah ! 

DUCHESS.  Are  yon  fond  of  diamonds,  Mr. 
Ryder  ? 

JACK  (staring  at  PET.).  Never  eat  them — 
oh,  beg  pardon,  Duchess.  But,  really,  I  care 
less  for  large  stones  than  for  quaint  old  set 
tings.  Some  of  the  old  Russian  or  East  Ind 
ian  work  is  perfect. 

DUCHESS.  Then  I  have  the  very  thing. 
Lift  out  this  tray,  if  you  please.  (They  bend 
over  box.) 

TULU  (jumping  up).  Come  on,  Mr.  Dick ; 
they  don't  want  us.  Hateful  things  ! 

DICK.  They  do  not  seem  to  miss  us. 

TULU.  Come  on,  and  we'll  get  it. 

DICK.  I'm  with  you.     Hush  ! 

TULU.  Hush  !     (They  tiptoe  of,  L.  E.) 

DUCHESS  (taking  out  case).  Arc  you  a  col 
lector,  Mr.  Ryder  ? 

JACK  (laughing,  detaches  amulet  from  his 
watch-chain).  There  is  my  East  Indian  collec 
tion,  Duchess.  Compact,  is  it  not? 


188  TULU. 

DUCHESS.  Very  dainty.  An  amulet -box, 
is  it  not  ? 

JACK.  Yes,  Duchess.     (Hands  it  to  her.) 

PET.  (coming  forward).  The  necklace  is 
adorable,  Duchess.  Ah,  you  have  Jack's 
East  Indian  collection.  Wouldn't  it  make  a 
jolly  stamp-box  ? 

BLAZ.  Or  match-box  ? 

JACK.  Hear  the  vandals !  Use  a  sacred 
amulet-box  for  matches ! 

PET.  (crossing  to  JACK).  I  would  like  it, 
Jack. 

JACK.  Everything  I  have  is  yours.  That 
"  goes  without  saying." 

PET.  It  does.  It  has  gone  a  long  time 
without  saying. 

JACK.  I  am  in  earnest. 

DUCHESS.  Now,  young  people,  here  is  the 
gem  of  all  my  treasures — the  Ranee's  neck 
lace  ;  an  heirloom  with  a  most  tragic  history. 
(Holds  up  necklace.) 

JACK.  That  is  a  treasure!  Who  could 
hesitate  between  that  and  a  string  of  huge 
stones  such  as  any  parvenu  can  buy  ? 

PET.  It's  perfectly  adorable !  See  how 
the  fire  opal  in  the  pendant  gleams,  Jack ! 


TULU.  189 

It  seems  almost  alive.  Do  tell  us  the  his 
tory,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  Blazonberrie  shall  tell  it.  Mr. 
Ryder,  sit  by  me.  (Gives  BLAZ.  necklace.) 

BLAZ.  Be  seated,  Miss  Seersucker.  It  is 
quite  a  long  yarn. 

PET.  Delicious  !  Firelight,  twilight,  and 
a  ghost-story.  (Sits  on  tete-a-tete.) 

(DUCHESS  and  RYDER  by  table.     BLAZONBER 
RIE  stands,  c.) 

BLAZ.  (holding  up  necklace).  This  is  the 
Ranee's  necklace.  Please  to  observe  the 
four  diamonds  set  about  the  pendant,  for 
thereby  hangs  a  tale  of  blood  and  woe. 
Somewhere  in  the  days  of  Clive,  Sir  Guy 
Rornmery,  an  ancestor  of  ours,  went  out  to 
India  to  seek  his  fortune,  and  a  jolly  pile  of 
loot — boodle — he  scooped  in. 

DUCHESS.  Blazonberrie,  do  not  be  so  flip 
pant. 

BLAZ.  Oh,  you  want  something  more  dra 
matic  ?  Werry  good.  Turn  on  the  red  light, 
thump  the  muffled  drum,  pick  the  string  of 
the  violoncello,  for  the  tragedy  is  at  hand. 
Scene :  closing  agonies  at  the  taking  of  an 


190  TULU. 

Indian  city  by  the  English.  Tum-tum-tum, 
r-r-r-um,  crash ! 

DUCHESS.  How  clever  he  is  ! 

PET.  Bring  on  the  villain,  Lord  Blazon- 
berrie. 

BLAZ.  Here  he  is,  sword  in  hand,  surround 
ed  by  blood,  flames,  fire,  and  fury.  Sir  Guy 
breaks  into  the  Ranee's  apartment,  where  she 
stands  undismayed  among  her  cowering  at 
tendants,  and,  alas !  her  white  dress  covered 
with  a  thousand  jewels.  Well — 

PET.  Don't  stop  here.     Did  he  kill  her  ? 

BLAZ.  Awkward  corners  are  turned  in  the 
drama  now  by  a  steam-curtain,  and  this  is  a 
deuced  awkward  one.  Theoretically,  you 
know,  an  Englishman  never  lifts  his  hand 
against  a  woman — 

JACK  (interrupting).  Unless  she  is  his 
wife — 

PET.  When  he  uses  his  feet,  so  that  don't 
count.  Pardon  us,  Lord  Blazonberrie. 

BLAZ.  Don't  mention  it.  As  I  say,  the 
steam-curtain  covers  a  multitude  of  sins,  and 
up  ours  goes.  See  it  ?  ( Waves  his  hands.) 
On  it  goes,  growing  pinker  every  instant, 
until  the  orchestra  strikes  up,  "  See  the  con- 


TULU.  191 

quering  hero  comes  !"  and  voila!  a  new  scene 
appears — England  again.  Sir  Guy  greets  his 
happy  tenantry  once  more,  and  settles  down 
to  enjoy — the  proceeds  of — his  virtuous  ca 
reer. 

PET.  But  where  does  the  necklace  come 
in? 

BLAZ.  It  was  one  of  the  rewards  of  his 
virtue. 

PET.  Good  men  flourish  like  Christmas- 
trees  in  India,  don't  they  ? 

BLAZ.  Not  when  they  are  handicapped  by 
a  dying  woman's  curse,  as  Sir  Guy  was. 

JACK.  Give  us  the  curse. 

BLAZ.  Gladly. 

"Tell  my  tale  of  woe  to  four, 
Disasters  follow  by  the  score." 

So  the  family  doggerel  goes,  and  numerous 
unpleasant  coincidences  back  it  up.  The 
Ranee  objected  to  gossip  evidently. 

PET.  But  we  are  only  four  now  !  (Jumps 
up.)  Gracious  !  Just  fancy  ! 

DUCHESS.  Only  four?  Where  are  Dick 
and  Tulu  ? 

JACK.  They  slipped  away  before  Blazon- 
berrie  began. 


192  TULU. 

DUCHESS.  How  unfortunate !  Blazonber- 
rie,  why  were  you  so  careless  ? 

BLAZ.  Nonsense !  Have  in  the  lights  and 
put  the  beastly  thing  away.  Who  cares  for 
such  things  now  ? 

DUCHESS.  Well,  it  cannot  be  helped. 
Put  it  away. 

JACK.  May  I  have  one  more  look? 

BLAZ.  Certainly.     (Hands  it  to  him.) 

JACK  (coming  down  r.).  The  exact  thing 
for  my  East  Indian  story.  (Examines  it.) 

PET.  Does  anything  happen  to  Jack  and 
I,  or  is  it  a  strictly  Blazonberrie  picnic  ? 

BLAZ.  I  Bear  the  brunt  as  narrator,  arid 
you  all  come  in  for  second  places.  Shall  we 
have  a  game  of  billiards,  and  so  return  to  the 
nineteenth  century  ? 

PET.  By  all  means.  I  feel  really  creepy. 
Come  and  score,  Jack.  Duchess,  come  and 
see  me  wipe  up  the  floor  with  Lord  Blazon 
berrie.  (Exit,  c.  K.,  with  BLAZ.) 

DUCHESS.  Wipe  up  the  floor  ! 

JACK.  Another  American  atrocity,  Duchess. 
Shall  we  join  them  ? 

DUCHESS.  First  I  must  ask  your  assist 
ance  in  locking  these  away.  Sorry  to  bore 


TULU.  193 

you,  but  I  cannot  trust  servants  in  this 
case. 

JACK.  Charmed  to  be  of  service,  I  assure 
you.  Where  does  this  fascinating  thing  go, 
Duchess? 

DUCHESS.  In  the  bottom,  well  out  of  sight. 
I  detest  it. 

JACK.  Then  you  will  not  wear  it  to  the 
masquerade  to-morrow  ? 

DUCHESS.  No ;  I  very  seldom  wear  it. 
Put  it  in  now,  if  you  please. 

(JACK  lays  necklace  in  box,  DUCHESS  puts  in 
trays.) 

DUCHESS.  Thanks.  ,  Now,  Mr.  Ryder — you 
are  a  Yankee — I  have  one  of  your  country 
men's  safes  in  this  room.  Look  about,  and 
guess  where  it  is. 

JACK  (aside).  It's  an  awful  death  to  die  ! 
(Aloud.)  I  cannot  imagine,  Duchess.  In  the 
wainscot  ? 

DUCHESS  (crossing  to  desk).  No  ;  here,  un 
der  this  etching.  Is  it  not  clever?  I  will 
open  it.  The  word  was  Toedmag.  T-o-e-d- 
m-a-g,  and  our  simple  little  etching  swings  out, 
revealing  the  patent  American  fire-proof  safe. 
13 


194  TULU. 

JACK  (handing  her  jewel-box].  And  the 
word  is  changed  every  time  ? 

DUCHESS.  Yes.  This  time  you  shall  se 
lect  it. 

JACK.  How  would  Petrolia  do? 

(BLAZONBERRIE  enters,  c.;  stands  listening.} 

DUCHESS.  Admirable  !  (Places  box  in  safe; 
closes  it.)  P-e-t-r-o-l-i-a.  Now,  Mr.  Ryder, 
not  even  Blazonberrie  shall  know  the  se 
cret. 

JACK.  I  appreciate  your  confidence,  Duch 
ess.  Shall  we  join  the  others  ? 

(BLAZONBERRIE  drops  curtain  ;  retires.) 

DUCHESS.  Dick  will  be  here  almost  imme 
diately,  to  take  that  absurd  picture.  Thank 
fortune,  Blazonberrie  never  has  any  wearing 
fads.  He  is  such  a  dear  fellow. 

JACK  (absent-mindedly).  I  have  always 
heard  he  was  very  expensive.  Pardon  me,  I 
was  not  attending. 

DUCHESS.  Do  not  mention  it.  By-the- 
bye,  I  want  your  opinion  on  an  old  book  I 
picked  up  at  auction.  It  is  in  here.  Come  ! 
(Exit,  L.) 


TULU.  195 

JACK.  Confound  her  old  book  !  I  wonder 
what  Petrolia  is  doing. 

DUCHESS  (outside).  I  am  waiting,  Mr.  Ry 
der. 

JACK.  Coming,  Duchess.     (Exit,  L.) 

(Enter  TULU  and  DICK,  c.) 

TULU.  Don't  be  a  goose  and  spoil  every 
thing,  Mr.  Dick. 

DICK.  But  it's  not  the  correct  thing.  A 
man  should  never  play  upon  a  woman's  weak 
ness. 

TULU  (laughing].  A  man !  Why,  you're 
nothing  but  a  boy — an  infant,  without  a  mus 
tache. 

DICK.  I've  three,  nearly  four  years  the  ad 
vantage  of  you,  Miss  Tulu. 

TULU.  Pooh !  it's  brains  that  count,  not 
years.  Our  boys  at  home  can  give  you 
points  every  time.  (Sits  on  sofa.)  However, 
be  hateful !  Petrolia  has  played  no  end  of 
jokes  on  you,  and  says  you're  the  freshest 
thing  she  ever  saw.  So  there  ! 

DICK.  Oh,  she  did !  She  had  better  look 
in  the  glass.  I  am  fresh,  am  I  ?  Very  good, 
then  I  am  with  vou.  Where  is  it  ? 


196  TULU. 

TULU.  It? 

DICK.  The  blamed  mouse. 

TULU.  Keep  your  temper,  little  boy. 
( Takes  candy  mouse  from  her  pocket.)  Here's 
the  blamed  mouse.  (Dangles  it  by  tail.) 
Isn't  it  natural  ? 

DICK.  No  end.  And  will  your  sister  yell 
when  she  sees  it  ? 

TULU.  Yell !  Well,  I  guess.  Smithy  is  so 
awfully  silly.  She'll  make  a  perfect  idiot  of 
herself,  and  when  she's  quite  through  we'll 
say,  "  Why,  it's  only  chocolate  !" 

DICK.  That's  the  idea!  and  I  will  add, 
"You  are  the  freshest  thing  I  ever  saw." 
That  will  crush  her.  ( Voices  outside) 

TULU.  Remember  the  cue :  "  We're  all 
ready." 

DICK.    Do    it   the    first   thing.     (Runs    to 

camera) 

(Enter  BLAZONBERRIE  and  PETROLIA,  c.,  DUCH 
ESS  and  JACK,  L.) 

PET.  Duchess,  the  curse  begins  to  work. 
I  have  promised  Mr.  Chetwyn  to  sit  for  him 
until  he  gets  a  picture.  Fancy  !  By-and-by 
I  shall  be  known  as— the  plate-smasher. 


TULU.  197 

DUCHESS.  I  am  grieved  that  Dick  should 
bore  you,  Miss  Seersucker. 

JACK.  My  cousin  jests.  She  is  incapable 
of  being  serious  about  anything. 

PET.  Thanks. 

DICK.  Some  of  her  jokes  go  a  long  way. 

PET.  Yes ;  they  came  over  three  thousand 
miles  with  me. 

TULU.  But  other  people  can  joke  as  well, 
even  if  they  are  young. 

PET.  Gracious !  who  pickled  the  party 
while  I  was  out?  Lord  Blazonberrie,  let  us 
pose  as  two  cherubim  on  the  tete-a-tete,  and 
show  the  beauty  of  a  sweet  temper.  (Goes 
to  tete-a-tete;  sits.) 

BLAZ.  (following).  Yes,  teach  'cm  a  lesson. 
(Sits  by  her.} 

DUCHESS  (going  to  chair,  B.  F.).  Mr.  Ryder, 
will  you  join  me  ?  (Sits.) 

JACK  (crossing  to  her).  With  the  greatest 
pleasure.  (Sits  glaring  at  PET.,  who  is  flirt 
ing  with  BLAZ.) 

TULU.  I'll  be  in  the  background.     (Steals 
behind  PET.,  pins  mouse  on  her  skirt.) 
DICK.  All  ready  ? 
TULU.  We're  all  ready.     (Winks  to  DICK.) 


198  TULU. 

DICK.  Very  good.  Jove!  Miss  Seersuck 
er,  is  that  a  mouse  crawling  up  your  skirt  ? 

PET.  A  mouse  on  me !  Take  it  off ! 
Quick  !  (Jumps  on  tete-a-tete,  screams.)  Do 
catch  it !  Oh  !  oh  ! 

BLAZ.  (hunting  on  floor).  I  don't  see  it. 

JACK  (rushing  to  PET.).  Keep  cool,  Petrolia, 
I'll  get  it. 

PET.  Hurry !  hurry !  Jack,  take  the  hor 
rid  thing  away  ! 

DUCHESS  (rising).  Atrocious!  What  a 
scene ! 

(TuLU  and  DICK  laugh  uproariously.) 

PET.  It  touched  my  hand !  Oh,  Jack, 
why  are  you  so  slow  ? 

BLAZ.  I  don't  see  it,     (Runts  under  table.) 

JACK.  Ah,  I've  got  you !  (Seizes  mouse, 
holds  it  up.)  Why,  it's  only  chocolate.  See, 
Petrolia. 

TULU.  Only  chocolate  !     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 

DICK.  Who's  fresh  now  ?     Ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 

PET.  Only  chocolate?  Duchess,  pardon 
me,  but  I've  such  a  horror  of  mice.  Whose 
idea  was  it  ?  Tulu  ! 

DICK   (promptly).   I  am  the  culprit,  Miss 


TULU.  199 

Seersucker.     I  only  intended  a  little  fun — a 
little  revenge — 

PET.  And  had  a  great  deal.  Then  I  owe 
you  one,  Mr.  Chetwyn.  And  I  always  pay 
my  debts — always. 

TABLEAU. 

PET.         JACK. 

TULU.  BLAZ. 

DUCHESS.  DICK. 

CURTAIN. 


ACT    II. 

(Same  scene,  lamps  lighted ;  DUCHESS,  PETRO- 
LIA,  and  TULU  enter  in  evening  dress.) 

DUCHESS.  So  you  have  society  in  the 
States  ?  Amazing ! 

TULU.  You  bet  we  have  society  ! 

PET.  Tulu!     (Goes  to  fire.) 

TULU.  You  can't  bulldoze  me,  Smithy. 
Besides,  the  Duchess  spoke  to  me. 

DUCHESS.  Indeed,  I  did  not.  (Sits  by  ta 
ble.)  Were  you  my  child  you  would  be  in 
the  school-room. 


200  TULU. 

TULU.  Thank  goodness,  I'm  not  your  child. 
(Flings  herself  on  sofa,  looks  over  picture-book.) 

DUCHESS.  Miss  Seersucker,  Dick  tells  me 
there  is  a  truly  correct  and  English  style  of 
living  among  your  "Four  Hundred" — not 
that  I  know  what  they  are — but  how  do  the 
rest  of  the  fifty  million  live  ?  For  instance, 
how  do  you  dine  en  famille  ? 

PET.  (coming  forward).  How  do  we  dine  ? 
Well ;  I  remember  a  dinner  we  gave  Mr. 
Chetwyn  last  summer.  First  course,  fried 
ham — 

DUCHESS.  Very  original.  Was  it  served 
before  or  after  soup  ? 

TULU.  The  Seersuckers  never  get  in  the 
soup,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  Never  get  in  !    Why,  who  does  ? 

TULU.  Blazonberrie  is  in  it — 

PET.  Tulu !  More  slang,  Duchess.  It 
means  the  reverse  of  in  the  swim — 

TULU.  It  does  not.     It  means — 

PET.  Tulu !  ( Very  fast.)  Next  course, 
trout,  olives,  baked  potatoes,  jam,  pickles, 
sardines,  crackers,  and  fried  coffee — at  least, 
it  was  made  in  the  frying-pan. 

DUCHESS.  Pray  how  was  this  served  ? 


TULU.  201 

PET.  A  la  Russe,  on  tin  pie-plates. 

DUCHESS.  Did  all  these  things  go  well  to 
gether  ? 

PET.  Everything  goes  in  the  Adirondacks. 

DUCHESS.  Ah,  now  I  see.  The  Adiron 
dacks  are  a  suburb  of  New  York  City,  are 
they  not  ? 

TULU.  What  jolly  geography  ! 

PET.  Yes,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  And  this  was  before  your  father 
— er — hit  oil. 

TULU.  Hit  oil !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  She  means 
struck,  Smithy. 

DUCHESS.  I  see  no  difference. 

PET.  Papa  struck  oil  before  I  was  born, 
Duchess ;  hence  my  idiotic  name.  Petrole 
um — Petrolia.  See  ? 

DUCHESS  (condescendingly).  I  like  your 
name  exceedingly,  Miss  Seersucker ;  it  is  so 
distinctive.  Many  daughters  are  named  af 
ter  their  fathers'  professions  in  the  States, 
are  they  not? 

PET.  As  there  is  not  apt  to  be  any  daugh 
ter  before  there  is  a  profession,  they  are. 

DUCHESS.  How  interesting!  Give  me  a 
few  specimens. 


202  TULU. 


PET.  (winks  to  TULU).  Certainly.  There's 
Julia  Vanderbilt :  father  a  carpenter  named 
Vander,  built ;  Jennie  Rockaf eller  :  mother  a 
nurse,  rocked  many  a  feller ;  Jemima  Hod- 
son  :  father  carried  a  hod ;  Mary — er — well, 
so  on ;  not  to  mention  Gloviana,  Sopiana, 
Drygoo-dsia,  and  Drugolia. 

TULU  (aside).  Can't  she  just  reel  them  off ! 
DUCHESS.   It  is  like  the   Norse  formation 
of   names.      Peculiarly    suited   to    a    people 
without  rank,  traditions,  or  ancestors. 
PET.  We  were  not  incubated  !     (Rises.) 
DUCHESS  (soothingly).   No,  no ;  but  I  un 
derstand  grandfathers  are  best  ignored  in  the 
States,  and  every  one  starts  on  the  basis  that 
the  child  is  father  of  the  man. 

PET.  Indeed  we  don't.  We  are  mighty 
proud  of  the  men  who  made  our  blooming 
young  republic,  and  wouldn't  swap  one  of 
them  for  any  number  of  your  gone-to-seed 
aristocracy. 

DUCHESS.  Gone  to  seed  !     (Rises.) 
PET.    (walking    about).    Yes.     Your   great 
families  were  built  up  by  men  of  the  people, 
men  with  brains,  and  are  about  to  be  extin 
guished  by  a  set  of  vapid  fops — 


TULU.  203 

DUCHESS.  Atrocious ! 

TULU  (throiving  look  on  floor).  Go  it, 
Smithy ! 

PET.  Yes ;  your  family  trees  boast  only 
withered  sprouts  —  bargain  -  counter  dukes, 
shop  -  worn  earls,  and  mildewed  lords,  who 
follow  their  titles  into  the  American  market 
like  tin  kettles  tied  to  a  dog's  tail. 

DUCHESS  (going  to  door).  Perhaps  you 
would  do  well  to  reserve  your  scorn  until 
one  of  these  same  titles  is  offered  you,  Miss 
Seersucker. 

TULU.  Oh,  rats !  She's  refused  six  lords, 
one — 

PET.  Tulu! 

DUCHESS.  I  cannot  listen ;  I  have  recollected 
an  important  letter.  Atrocious  !  (Exit,  c.) 

TULU  (running  to  door).  And  a  baronet. 
So  there  ! 

PET.  ('putting  hand  over  her  mouth).  Tulu, 
please  be  quiet. 

TULU.  Well,  you  did. 

PET.  (laughing).  Tula,  you  never  say  such 
horrid  things  at  home. 

TULU.  No  more  do  you.  You  set  me  a 
very  bad  example. 


204  TULU. 

PET.  I  know  it.  But  it  is  such  fun  to  see 
the  Duchess's  eyes. 

TULU.  Isn't  it?  And  it's  so  dull  here. 
I  say,  Petrolia,  are  you  going  to  marry  Bla- 
zonberrie  ? 

PET.  (sitting  on  tete-a-tete).  What  do  you 
advise  ? 

TULU.  I  s'pose  it  would  be  fun  to  be  Lady 
Blazonberrie  now,  and  a  duchess  by-and-by, 
but  Jack  is  nicer. 

PET.   I  should  think  so  ! 

TULU.  And  Blazonberrie  is  as  cross  as  a 
bear  mornings.  He  swears  at  his  valet.  Mr. 
Dick  is  so  much  jollier  he  ought  to  be  a 
lord. 

PET.  He  is  a  nuisance,  and  I  owe  him  one. 

TULU.  I  think  he  is  perfectly  sweet. 

PET.  He  is  very  selfish.  Just  think,  Tulu, 
he  has  never  let  you  take  one  picture.  Just 
as  though  you  were  a  baby. 

TULU.  Yes,  and  I  know  I  could  do  it  as 
well  as  he  does. 

PET.  You  could  not  well  do  it  worse. 
(Draws  her  to  her.)  Wouldn't  it  be  fun  to 
take  one  on  the  sly,  dear  ? 

TULU.  Dear!     What  do  you  want  ? 


TULU.  205 

*  PET.  Only  a  little  revenge.  He  made  me 
appear  a  perfect  fool,  you  know. 

TULU.  Well,  I'm  in  it. 

PET.  That's  a  dear  child.  (Hugs  her.) 
You  know  the  camera  is  all  ready  for  a  flash 
light  picture. 

TULU.  Yep. 

PET.  Very  good.  After  coffee  is  served, 
and  we  have  all  gone  to  the  music-room,  you 
wait  behind.  Turn  out  the  light.  Hide  be 
hind  the  curtain  with  the  bulb  in  your  hand. 
I  will  send  Mr.  Chetvvyn  back  for  my  hand 
kerchief.  The  instant  he  is  in  the  door, 
give  a  horrible  groan  and  squeeze  the  bulb. 
You  can't  miss  him,  and  of  course  he  will 
have  his  mouth  open. 

TULU.  I'll  groan  so.  (Groans.)  Wouldn't 
that  make  your  flesh  just  creep  ? 

PET.  Yes,  indeed.  And  to-morrow  you 
can  have  Saunders  finish  it  quietly,  and  then 
show  it  to  everybody. 

TULU.  Mr.  Dick  will  be  just  hopping. 

(Enter  JACK,  c.) 

JACK.  Run  away,  Tulu,  like  a  good  child. 
TULU.  I'm  not  a  child ;  I'm  fifteen,  and  I 


206  TULU. 

don't  want  to  hear  your  old  secret.  ( Walks 
very  slowly  to  door.)  Tisn't  much  of  a  se 
cret.  You're  going  to  make  love  to  Petrolia, 
like  all  the  rest.  (Exit,  L.) 

PET.  What  is  the  matter,  Jack  ? 
JACK.  You. 

PET.  What  have  I  did  ? 
JACK.   Do  be   serious,  Petrolia,  I  want  to 
speak  to  you. 

PET.  Well,  you  seem  to  be  talking. 
JACK.  You  know  what  I  mean. 
PET.  That  is  what  Blazonberrie  constantly 
says. 

JACK.  Confound  him ! 
PET.  Was  it  of  this  you  wished  to  speak  ? 
JACK.    No.     (Walks    about.)     Petrolia,    it 
is,  of  course,  not  my  affair,  but  I  wish  you 
would  leave  these  insolent  people,  who  regard 
you  as  a  speculation  and  a  curiosity.     I  am 
continually  irritated  by  the  Duchess's  tone  of 
patronage. 

PET.   Are   you?     I  enjoy   our  battles  im 
mensely,  and  her  patronage  does  not  injure 

me. 

JACK.   I  think  it  does,  Petrolia.     I  think 
that  when  a  beautiful,  accomplished,  fascinat- 


TULU.  207 

ing  girl  like  you  puts  herself  in  the  position 
of  being  "  sent  on  approval,"  as  it  were,  she 
is  injured. 

PET.  But  it  is  the  other  way.  Blazonberrie 
is  "  on  approval."  And  of  course,  Jack,  no 
true  American  could  reject  a  title. 

JACK.  You  could. 

PET.  I  am  not  sure.  (Rises.)  If  papa  buys 
me  Blazonberrie,  think  how  I  can  stamp  on 
the  women  who  have  hesitated  to  receive 
"Old  Bob's"  daughter.  (Crosses  to  R.) 

JACK  (following).  What  have  these  women 
to  do  with  your  real  happiness,  Petrolia  ? 

PET.  Not  much.  Oh,  Jack!  sometimes  I 
wish  papa  had  never  made  his  fortune.  (They 
walk  slowly  to  c.,  stand  in  front  of  tete-a-tetc.) 

JACK.  I  often  wish  that. 

PET.  Do  you  remember  the  larks  we  had 
at  Cobbsville?  The  dances  in  the  school- 
house,  and  the  everlasting  pink  gingham 
gown  I  wore  ? 

JACK.  You  never  wear  anything  half  so 
sweet  now.  One  is  afraid  to  touch  you  for 
fear,  of  rumpling  some  folds  or  biases. 

PET.  I  recollect  one  who  was  afraid  to 
touch  me  then,  Master  Jack.  Do  you  remem- 


208  TULU. 

ber  the  night  you  kissed  me  behind  the  door, 
and  I  walked  home  on  the  fence,  with  you 
following  in  the  moonlight,  and  wouldn't 
speak  to  you  ?  (They  sit  on  tete-a-tete.) 

JACK.  Yes ;  and  I  remember  calling  with 
a  basket  of  apples  and  an  apology  the  next 
morning,  and  you  forgave  me. 

PET.  Yes  ;  and  taught  you  to  waltz  out  in 
the  barn.  (Laughs.)  Oh,  Jack !  shall  you 
ever  forget  the  quarrel  we  had  because  I  said 
Tommy  Hicks  had  a  handsome  nose  ? 

JACK.  No ;  nor  how  I  flattened  his  hand 
some  nose.  Dear  old  days  !  (Sighs.) 

PET.  Dear,  dear  old  days  !  (Sighs.)  What 
a  pity  that  "  youth's  sweet-scented  manuscript 
must  close,"  as  Khayam  says. 

JACK.  Why  need  it?  Petrolia,  you  have 
just  said  your  happiest  days  were  those  in 
which  you  had  no  money.  And  they  were. 
Money  brings  cares,  social  obligations,  heart 
burnings  in  its  train.  It  cannot  buy  happi 
ness,  or  love  such  as  I  offer  you.  My  love 
has  never  swerved  since  we  were  children 
playing  together.  I — 

PET.  Well,  Jack? 

JACK   (taking   her   hand).  Petrolia,   would 


TULU.  209 

you — oil,  were  it  not  for  your  money  I  would 
tell  you  of  the  fond  dreams  1  have  had  of  a 
little  home,  where  you  should  reign  supreme. 
Were  it  not  for  that  miserable  fortune,  I 
would  offer  you  the  devotion  of  a  lifetime. 
But,  pshaw !  (Rises,  walks  about.)  I  am 
poor,  always  shall  be.  Authorship  brings 
no  golden  reward  —  and  I  am  absurd  with 
my  talk  of  love.  Love  is  for  the  rich  nowa 
days. 

PET.  I  am  sorry,  because  then  I  never  shall 
have  any. 

JACK.  You !  Why,  your  fortune  is  my 
stumbling-block. 

PET.  Yes,  now.  But,  you  see,  Jack,  papa 
said — he  said,  you  know — he  said — 

JACK  (rushing  to  her).  Yes,  Petrolia — he 
said — 

PET.  He  said  if  I  was  such — a — a  darned 
fool  as  to  prefer  you  to  an  English  lord,  I 
might  marry  you  and  live  on  love,  for  he'd 
never  give  me  a  cent. 

JACK.  And  would  you  give  it  up  for  me  ? 

PET.  I— 

DICK  (outside).  Tulu  !  * 

JACK.  Chetwyn. 
14 


210  TULU. 

(DiCK  enters,  c.) 

PET.  Yes.  Get  rid  of  the  tiresome  boy, 
and  I'll  come  back  in  ten  minutes.  (Exit,  L.) 

DICK  (coming  forward}.  Hope  I  do  not  in 
terrupt,  Ryder. 

JACK.  I  thought  you  were  in  the  billiard- 
room. 

DICK  (seating  himself  on  desk}.  I  was,  but 
I  am  detachable  and  peripatetic. 

JACK.  Ah !  very  good,  very  good.  Um — 
er — just  excuse  me  a  moment.  (Aside.}  I 
must  find  Petrolia.  (Exit,  L.) 

DICK  (imitating}.  Very  good  —  um  —  er — 
just  excuse  me  a  moment.  Now  I  wonder  if 
ever  I  will  be  so  tangled  up  over  any  girl. 
And  to  think  they  are  dead  spoons  on  each 
other,  and  I  never  knew  it!  "Get  rid  of 
that  tiresome  boy,"  says  she,  "and  I'll  be 
back  in  a  moment."  Werry  well ;  you  shall 
finish  your  proposal  quite  comfortable  for  all 
me.  (Jumps  down  from  desk.)  Jupiter ! 
what  a  jolly  row  Aunt  Hildegarde  will  kick 
up  when  she  finds  it  out !  I  wish  I  could 
have  her  in  at  the  finish  and  take  her  picture. 
(Laughs.)  It's  too  good  to  be  lost,  and  part 


TULU. 


211 


of  it  shall  be  a  picture — not  necessarily  for 
publication,  but  to  pay  Miss  Petrolia  for  call 
ing  me  a  tiresome  boy.  (Moves  camera  so 
it  takes  in  tete-a-tete.)  There!  Of  course 
they  will  sit  on  the  tete-a-tete ;  that's  what 
they  are  made  for — proposals.  Ought  to  be 
called  pop-cushions.  (Lays  bulb  in  front  of 
seat.)  There  you  are,  convenient  to  Ryder's 
foot.  When  he  starts  up,  crying,  "  Darling, 
I  love  you !"  he  steps  on  my  little  friend,  and 
a  charming  picture  is  caught  just  as  she 
tumbles  into  his  arms-^so.  (Falls  on  seat.) 
I  hope  Ryder  will  have  the  decency  to  keep 
on  his  own  side.  I  fancy  it  will  be  all  right, 
for  she'll  jump  or  wiggle — they  all  do — and 
skip  back,  with  a  coy  shriek — so — and  off 
goes  the  picture.  If  I  were  only  a  boy  again 
I'd  hide  behind  the  curtain ;  as  I  cannot,  I 
must  trust  to  luck.  Now  for  the  light.  ( Tunis 
down  lamp.  Stage  dark.)  Jove  !  where's  the 
door  ?  Ow  !  there  I  go  again  !  Well,  bones 
are  cheap.  Ah,  here  I  am.  (Exit,  c.) 

(Enter  TULU,  L.) 

TULU  (feeling  her  ivay).  Whatever  is  the 
matter?     Oh,  I  s'pose  this  is  more   of  the 


212  TULU. 

Duchess's  economy.  Oh  no ;  Mr.  Dick  is 
going-  to  take  a  picture.  Well,  he  sha'n't 
spoil  my  joke  on  him.  I'll  hide  on  the  sofa, 
and  interfere  somehow.  My  !  Gracious  ! 
Oh !  Ah !  I  guess  I  broke  my  ankle  that 
time.  (Hobbles  to  sofa.)  I  never  was  so 
bored.  I  never  did  see  such  a  poky  old 
house.  I  believe  Mr.  Dick  is  coming. 

(Enter  BLAZONBERRIE,  c.) 

BLAZ.  What  the  dickens —    Anybody  here  ? 

TULU.  Only  me. 

BLAZ.  Who  is  "  me  ?"  Ah,  Miss  Seer 
sucker  !  I  should  know  your  charming  voice 
anywhere. 

TULU.  Should  you  really  ?  (Aside.)  He 
takes  me  for  Petrolia,  What  a  lark  ! 

BLAZ.  Why  is  it  dark  ? 

TULU.  My  head  aches  fearfully,  so  I  turned 
the  lights  down,  and  am  trying  to  compose 
myself. 

BLAZ.  I'm  no  end  sorry.  May  I  talk  to 
you  ?  Where  are  you  ? 

TULU.  On  the  sofa.  Don't  break  your 
shins  over  the  chairs. 

BLAZ.    (tumbling  over  chair).   Da — ahem  ! 


-TULU.  213 

ahem !  May  I  sit  by  you,  Miss  Seer 
sucker? 

TULU  (laughing].  I  guess  so. 

BLAZ.  Your  voice  sounds  so  like  Tula's 
in  the  dark. 

TULU  (giggling].  That's  queer. 

BLAZ.  Shall  I  turn  up  the  light  just  a  bit? 

TULU.  No,  no !  My  head  is  awful ! 
(Groan*.) 

BLAZ.  Jove !  It's  too  bad.  Perhaps  I 
bore  you. 

TULU.  You  could  never  bore  we,  Lord 
Blazonberrie. 

BLAZ.  Do  you  mean  that  ?  You're  such  a 
one  for  chaff,  a  fellow  never  knows. 

TULU.  Oh,  I  meant  that. 

BLAZ.  Miss  Seersucker — Petrolia  !  The — 
er — darkness  gives  me  courage  to  say — what 
I  have  tried  to  ever  since  you  came — only 
you  have  bluffed  me  off. 

TULU.  No,  I  didn't. 

BLAZ.  But  you  seemed  to.  And  a  fellow 
loaded  with  debts  and  so  forth,  has  not  got 
much  to  offer. 

TULU.  I  have  enough  for  two.  (Gig 
gles.) 


214  TULU. 

BLAZ.  If  you  are  making  game  of  me,  I 
am  silent. 

TULU.  I  am  hysterical,  that's  all. 

BLAZ.  Well,  then,  to  cut  it  short,  will  you 
be  my  wife  ? 

TULU.  I  don't  exactly  know.  The  Duch 
ess  is  a  corker  for  a  mother-in-law. 

BLAZ.  She  will  retire  to  her  dower  house. 

TULU.  That's  so.  It  certainly  would  be 
slick  to  be  Lady  Blazonberrie. 

BLAZ.  Be  what  ? 

TULU.  Slick.  Smooth,  you  know.  Still, 
I  hardly  know  what  to  say. 

BLAZ.   Are  you  engaged  to  Ryder  ? 

TULU.  That's  what  gets  me.  I  don't 
know. 

BLAZ.  Don't  know7 ! 

TULU.  No.     (Rushes  off,  L.) 

BLAZ.  I  say !  Look  here,  you  know. 
(Turns  up  light.)  Gone!  Now,  is  this 
American  coquetry  or  unadulterated  idiocy? 
Don't  know  whether  she's  engaged  or  not! 
I  will  be  obliged  if  she  will  find  out,  for  my 
affairs  are  coming  to  a  crisis.  Smash  is  the 
word  unless  money  comes  from  somewhere. 
(Walks  up  and  down).  Going  to  smash  for 


TULU.  215 

twenty  thousand  pounds,  and  over  six  times 
that  amount  over  there  (points  to  sofa),  tied 
up  by  that  beastly  entail.  The  entail  busi 
ness  is  played  out.  What's  this  ?  (Picks  up 
amulet.)  Ryder's  fetish.  Let  him  hunt  for 
it  if  he  wants  it.  (Throws  amulet  down.) 
And  he,  with  his  priggish  airs,  stands  be 
tween  me  and  two  hundred  thousand  pounds 
sterling  and  a  wife  who  thinks  it  would  be 
slick — no,  smooth — to  be  Lady  Blazonberrie. 
Good  Gad!  what  an  ornament  to  the  peer 
age  !  However,  she's  a  well-gilded  pill,  and 
I  never  heard  her  out  before  in  such  howling 
bad  form  as  she  was  to-night. 

(Enter  PETROLIA,  c.  E.) 

PET.  Jack  !  Pardon  me,  Lord  Blazonber 
rie  ;  I  thought  my  cousin  was  here.  Have 
you  seen  him  ? 

BLAZ.  No  ;  he  has  not  been  here  since  you 
left.  I  have  waited,  and  am  waiting,  for  my 
answer.  How  could  you  run  away  ? 

PET.  How  could  I  run  away  ?  (Comes  for 
ward.) 

BLAZ.  Yes,  and  leave  me  in  such — such — 
er — harrowing  uncertainty  ? 


216  TULU. 

PET.  I? 

BLAZ.  If  it  were  not  you,  who  was  it? 

PET.  (bewidlered).  If  it  were  not  I,  who  was 
it? 

BLAZ.  (impatiently).  That  is  what  I  said. 

PET.  Ah,  it  is  an  English  joke. 

BLAZ.  More  in  the  American  style,  I  fancy. 
First,  you  say  it  will  be  slick — smooth — to  be 
Lady  Blazonberrie ;  secondly,  that  you  do 
not  know  whether  you  are  engaged  to  Ryder 
or  not.  How  do  you  explain  that  ? 

PET.  When  did  I  say  all  this  ? 

BLAZ.  Not  five  minutes  ago  ;  and,  I  say, 
how  do  you  explain  it  ? 

PET.  I  don't.  I  can't.  I  am  all  in  the 
dark. 

BLAZ.  Well,  you  are  a  very  different  young 
lady  in  the  dark,  I  assure  you.  I  wish  I  had 
not  turned  up  the  light. 

PET.  Oh,  I  see  !  All  this  happened  in  the 
dark. 

BLAZ.  I  should  think  you  might  recollect 
that. 

PET.  (aside).  This  is  Tulu's  mischief! 
(Aloud.)  You  are  making  a  vastly  serious 
matter  of  this. 


TULU.  217 

BLAZ.  It  is  serious.  I  must  know  if  you 
are  engaged  to  Ryder. 

PET.  I  deny  your  right  to  question  me. 

BLAZ.  I  have  a  right  to  know  if  I  am  being 
misled. 

PET.  I  am  not  misleading  you. 

BLAZ.  (sitting  by  her).  Then  you  love  me  ! 
You  will  be  my  wife! 

PET.  Do  you  love  me,  Lord  Blazonberrie  ? 

(JACK  appears  in  door,  c.) 

BLAZ.  I  am  not  a  sentimental  fellow,  but  I 
think  you  are  no  end  jolly,  and  I  want  you 
to  be  my  wife. 

(JACK  makes  gesture  of  despair,  disappears.) 

PET.  Exactly.  And  were  there  no  ques 
tion  of  settlements,  I  am  the  ideal  wife 
you  would  select  to  do  the  honors  of  your 
house  ? 

BLAZ.  Well— I— 

PET.  (rising).  You  answer  yourself.  You 
regard  me  as  a  creature  quite  outside  the 
pale  of  civilization,  a  vulgar  Philistine,  bad 
form  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  and  only  to 
be  tolerated  for  the  money  I  bring.  Pardon 


218  TULU, 

me  if  I  speak  too  frankly,  but  I  do  not  think 
you  offer  me  a  fair  equivalent. 

BLAZ.  Yet  you  seemed  to  like  the  prospect 
of  being  a  duchess.  (Rises,  walks  about.) 

PET.  I  own  I  was  dazzled.  There  was  a 
time  when  it  seemed  quite  a  splendid  posi 
tion,  but  now  I  realize  it  is  a  paltry  affair. 

BLAZ.  I  see.     Ryder  steps  between  us. 

PET.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case. 

BLAZ.  I  heard  nothing  of  this  virtuous 
contempt  for  rank  until  he  appeared.  Well, 
I  accept  my  defeat.  He  is  a  nice  enough 
fellow,  but  I  doubt  if  he  is  quite  the  hero  you 
imagine  him. 

PET.  He  is  at  least  incapable  of  the  mean 
ness  of — of — 

BLAZ.  Marrying  for  money  ?  Don't  balk 
at  the  word.  So  am  I.  I  couldn't  marry 
you  without  it,  but,  believe  me,  Miss  Seer 
sucker,  were  you  less  fascinating  than  you 
are,  even  your  fortune  would  not  tempt  me. 

PET.  Oh,  Lord  Blazonberrie,  I  hope  you 
do  not  really  care  for  me. 

BLAZ.  Care ! 

PET.  Say  no  more.  Let  us  forget  this 
wretched  scene.  I  do  not  love  you,  but  I 


TULU.  219 

feel  more  real  friendship  for  you  than  I  could 
ever  have  fancied  possible.  (Gives  him  her 
hand.) 

BLAZ.  (kissing  her  hand).  Friendship  is 
cold  comfort,  but  I  accept  it.  And  I  shall 
never  give  you  up — never  ! 

PET.  Oh,  I  must  not  stay.  Think  no  more 
of  me,  Lord  Blazonberrie,  I  beg  of  you. 
(Exit,  L.) 

BLAZ.  (coming  down  F.).  That  was  a  neat 
recover,  I  think.  Why  the  dickens  did  I 
balk  so  over  telling  her  I  loved  her,  in  the 
first  place  ?  I  fancy  it  was  that  scene  in  the 
dark.  With  that  fresh  in  my  mind  I  really 
could  not  tell  her  she  was  an  ideal  duchess. 
However,  I  patched  it  up  neatly.  She  is  full 
of  sympathy  for  my  love-lorn  state,  and  that's 
a  distinct  move.  Now,  could  I  but  overturn 
her  little  hero  from  his  pedestal,  she  is  mine. 
How  to  do  it — that's  the  question. 

(Enter  ROBINSON,  c.) 

ROB.  (handing  him  letter).  A  letter,  my 
lord.  Boy  from  the  Blue  Cow,  waiting  for  a 
hanser. 

BLAZ.    (tearing    letter    open).    Rosenthal's 


220  TULU. 

writing  !  (Reads,  crumples  letter.)  Confound 
it! 

ROB.  (aside).  A  dun. 

BLAZ.  (writes  note  at  desk,  turns  to  ROB.). 
Here,  give  this  to  the  boy.  What  are  you 
staring  at  ? 

ROB.  Nothing,  my  lord. 

BLAZ.  You  lie.     You  were  staring  at  me. 

ROB.  Yes,  my  lord. 

BLAZ.  Leave  the  room. 

ROB.  Yes,  my  lord.  (Aside.)  Hit  was  a 
dun.  (Exit,  c.) 

BLAZ.  (coming  down  F.,  reading  letter).  "  Let 
me  call  your  lordship's  attention  to  the  fact 
that  your  lordship's  bill  for  twenty  thousand 
pounds  comes  due  to-morrow,  and  must  be 
taken  up.  Have  spoken  to  my  principal  as 
you  desired,  and  he  says  he  can't  possibly 
renew  even  for  one  month.  Shall  remain  at 
the  inn  until  ten  o'clock  to-morrow,  when,  if 
I  neither  see  nor  hear  from  your  lordship,  will 
be  obliged  to  come  up  to  the  castle.  Trust 
ing  your  lordship  will  see  the  necessity  of 
giving  this  your  immediate  attention,  I  re 
main,  your  lordship's  humble  servant,  A.  Ro- 
senthal.  At  the  Blue  Cow.  December 


TULU.  221 

20th."  (Crushes  letter  in  his  hand.}  Damn 
his  smooth  impudence !  Come  up  here  and 
make  a  scene,  will  he  ?  How  the  deuce  can 
I  raise  twenty  thousand  pounds  ?  Don't  he 
know  that  there's  not  a  Jew  in  London  ready 
to  advance  me  another  sov.  ?  And  the  Duke 
is  drained  dry.  By  Jove,  there  never  was 
such  an  unfortunate  fellow  as  I !  The  small 
est  bet  I  can  make  on  a  horse  breaks  his 
wind  or  his  leg ;  while  anything  large  brings 
battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death  to  horse 
and  jockey  both.  Then  this  chit  of  a  girl 
gets  up  on  her  ear  just  as  I  counted  on  her 
fortune  to  mend  my  own.  Were  I  engaged 
to  her,  Rosenthal  would  wait.  But  how  to 
manage  it,  how  to  manage  it  ?  (Exit,  L.) 

(Enter  JACK,  c.) 

JACK.  Not  here,  of  course.  After  the 
touching  scene  I  interrupted,  how  could  I  ex 
pect  it?  And  yet  I  did.  I  did.  (Comes 
forward,  sits,  c.)  I  should  have  known  she 
could  not  refuse  his  title,  but  I  loved  her  and 
believed  in  her.  "  Do  you  love  me  ?"  she 
asked,  and  doubtless  he  swore  he  did.  He's 
just  the  style  of  fellow  women  admire,  hand- 


222  TULU. 

some,  dull,  and  soft  in  his  manner.  Latent 
strength,  they  call  it,  when  it's  only  repressed 
idiocy.  Pshaw !  I  won't  think  of  it.  She 
shall  never  know  how  deep  a  wound  she  has 
inflicted.  I  will  leave  to-morrow;  that  I  am 
resolved  on. 

(Enter  DICK,  L.) 

DICK  (aside).  He's  here.  I'll  get  the  light 
out,  and  send  her.  (Aloud.)  Are  you  asleep, 
Ryder  ? 

JACK  (turning).  Ah,  Chetwyn  !  I  was  won 
dering  where  everybody  was. 

DICK  (sitting  L.  r.).  I  say,  what  a  jolly  lot 
we  are  !  all  straying  about  like  Banshees,  ex 
cept  my  revered  aunt,  who  has  retired  with  a 
— pain  in  her  temper.  That's  chronic  with 
her.  Maybe  you  have  one  yourself. 

JACK.  No;  I  was  meditating. 

DICK.  It  seems  to  take  a  good  deal  out  of 
you.  ( Winks.)  Cheer  up.  She  will  be  here 
directly. 

JACK.  The  Duchess  ? 

DICK.  Not  much.  Your  charming  cousin, 
Miss  Seersucker.  She  asked  me  where  you 
were,  and  I  said  in  here,  so  says  she — er — 


TULU.  223 

"Run  in  and  tell  him  I  am  coming,"  and  I 
ran. 

JACK  (stiffly].  You  are  most  obliging. 

DICK.  Don't  mention  it.  (Aside.)  Now 
for  the  light.  (Aloud.)  What  ails  the  light? 
(Fumbles  with  lamp.)  It  seems  to  —  ugh  ! 
ah  ! — what  a  beast  of  a  lamp  ! 

JACK.  It  burns  well  enough.  You're  turn 
ing  it  out. 

DICK.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  (Turns  it  out. 
Stage  dark.)  Jove  !  what  a  fool  of  a  lamp  ! 

JACK.  I  knew  you'd  do  it.  I'll  fetch  a 
match. 

DICK.  No,  no !  Miss  Petrolia  will  miss 
you.  I'll  fetch  one.  Where  are  you  ? 

JACK.  Sitting  on  the  tete-a-tete. 

DICK.  That's  all  right.  I'll  be  back  in  an 
instant.  (Exit,  c.) 

JACK.  So  she  is  coming  to  smooth  me 
down  again.  For  once  she  will  find  me  in 
flexible.  (Pause.)  Why  don't  that  idiot  of 
a  boy  come  back  ?  (Pause.)  Well,  I  am 
soft !  Master  Dick  is  playing  one  of  his 
charming  jokes  on  me.  I  knew  he  was  fool 
ing  about  the  lamp.  I'll  go  to  my  room  and 
pack.  Where  is  the  door  ?  Ah !  here.  So 


224  TULU. 

ends   your  joke,  Master   Dick.     (Runs  into 

ROB.,  entering  c.  E.) 
ROB.  Beg  parding. 
JACK.  No  matter.     (Goes  off,  c.) 
ROB.  That  was  the  Hamerican.     Wothever 

was  'e   a- doing  hall   halone  hin   the    dark? 

(Lights  lamp.) 

(Enter  PETROLIA  and  TULU,  L.) 

PET.  Robinson,  where  is  the  Duchess  ? 

ROB.  'Er  ladyship  'ave  retired  to  'er  room, 
Miss  Seersucker,  hand  begs  you  will  hexcuse 
'er  for  the  rest  of  the  hevening,  has  she  is 
very  much  hindispoged. 

PET.  Is  it  anything  serious,  Robinson  ? 

ROB.  Nothing  serious,  miss. 

TULU.  She's  boiling  mad,  Petrolia. 

PET.  Tulu! 

ROB.  Do  you  require  hanything,  miss  ? 

PET.  No.     You  may  go. 

(ROBINSON  goes  off,  c.) 

TULU.  You'll  make  a  jolly  duchess,  Petro 
lia.  You  say  "You  may  go"  exactly  like 
your  mother-in-law.  I'm  glad  she  is  ill; 


TULU.  225 

maybe  she  won't  get  in  such  a  jolly  wax  for 
nothing  again. 

PET.  It  is  another  bit  of  insolence. 

TULU.  Who  cares?  Come  on  in  the  bill 
iard-room  ;  Dick  and  Blazonberrie  are  there, 
and  I'll  fetch  Jack.  Come  on. 

PET.  Are  you  crazy,  Tulu  ?  We  can't  stay 
down  without  our  hostess  and  chaperon,  and 
entertain  a  party  of  young  men — at  least,  not 
in  England. 

TULU.  We  can't  go  to  bed  at  ten  o'clock. 

PET.  We  must  go  up  to  my  sitting-room 
and  read.  Come,  Tulu,  and  we  will  leave  as 
soon  as  we  can  possibly  find  an  excuse. 

TULU.  But  my  joke  on  Dick!  Oh, 
Smithy ! 

PET.  That  will  keep.     Please  come,  Tulu. 

TULU.  Well,  you  go,  and  I  will  follow. 

PET.  (laughing').  Sure  'nuff  ? 

TULU.  Sure  'nuff.     Skip,  Smithy. 

PET.  Don't  be  long.     (Exit,  c.) 

TULU.  I  sha'n't  go  until  I  have  taken  Mr. 
Dick's  picture.  He  will  have  to  pass  through 
here  to  the  smoking-room.  (Arranges  camera 
by  tea-table  so  it  takes  in  c.  E.)  There  !  that 
ought  to  get  him.  (Picks  up  bulb.)  Xow 
15 


226  TULU. 

for  the  light.  (Turns  out  light.  Stage  dark.) 
I'll  get  behind  the  table.  (Pause.)  My  !  it's 
awful  hot  here,  and  I'm  getting  sleepy.  I 
wish  Mr.  Dick  would  hurry.  (Yawns.)  I'm 
so — sleepy.  (Pause.) 

(BLAZONBERRIE  enters,  c.) 

BLAZ.  All  dark  again.  So  much  the  bet 
ter.  Jove  !  how  my  heart  thumps  !  I  am 
only  robbing  myself.  The  jewels  are  mine 
— or  will  be-— and  the  entail  can  go  to  the 
deuce.  (Soft  music  until  end  of  scene.)  The 
Duchess  never  wears  the  thing,  so  it  will  not 
be  missed ;  or  if  it  is — /  do  not  know  the 
combination.  (Lights  match,  goes  to  desk.) 
What  did  I  step  on?  (Stoops  down.)  Ry 
der's  amulet  again.  Stay  there  !  Should  the 
worst  come,  you  are  circumstantial  evidence. 
(Lights  match,  turns  handle  of  safe.)  P-e- 
t-r-o-l-i-a,  and  out  you  come.  (Takes  out  Ra 
nee's  necklace,  replaces  jewel-box,  closes  safe 
by  light  of  matches.  Goes  to  c.  E.) 

TULU  (whispering).  Mr.  Dick  is  here; 
now,  then !  (Squeezes  bulb.  Flash  shows 
BLAZ.  by  c.  E.,  his  hand  raised,  holding  neck 
lace.) 


TULU.  227 

BLAZ.  A  light !    Some  one  coming !    (Rush 
es  of.) 

TULU.  I  forgot  to  groan.    (Goes  to  camera.) 

TABLEAU. 

TULU  talcing  out  plate. 

CURTAIN. 

(The  flash  can  be  imitated  by  quickly  uncover 
ing  white  light  in  L.  E.,  so  it  strikes  full  on 
BLAZONBERRIE.) 


ACT   III. 

Same  scene ;  morning  /  music.  Curtain  rises 
on  BLAZONBERRIE  and  PETROLIA,  JACK  and 
TULU,  dancing  gavotte,  or  fancy  dance; 
DICK  sitting  on  table,  L.,  playing  on  comb. 
They  dance  one  measure,  then  music  grows 
fainter,  so  they  talk  while  dancing. 

DICK.  You  will  be  belles  of  the  ball,  special 
ly  Tulu,  who  dances  like  a  pantomime  fairy. 

TULU.  Yes,  I  can  dance.  Jack,  I  wish  you 
would  not  look  so  dismal. 


TULU. 


JACK.  I'm  as  jolly  as  a  sand-boy.  Here 
we  go — forward,  back,  and  round  again. 

BLAZ.  Miss  Seersucker,  may  we  not  know 
what  character  you  take  in  the  masquerade 
to-night  ? 

PET.  That  is  a  secret  between  the  Duchess 
and  I. 

DICK.  I  bet  I  know. 

TULU.  I  bet  you  don't.    Why,  even  I  don't. 

JACK.  You  might  tell  me,  Petrolia  ;  I  shall 
not  be  here  to-night. 

PET.  Not  be  here  ?     (Stops  dancing.) 

TULU.  Not  be  here  ?  After  rehearsing  the 
dance,  and  getting  your  costume  !  Oh,  Jack  ! 

DICK.  It  will  spoil  the  whole  thing. 

BLAZ.  Is  not  this  rather  sudden,  Mr.  Ry 
der  ? 

JACK.  You  do  not  object,  I  suppose,  Lord 
Blazonberrie  ? 

BLAZ.  Not  at  all. 

PET.  How  mysterious!  (Goes  to  fire  with 
BLAZ.) 

DICK  (going  to  JACK).  I  say,  old  fellow, 
you  must  not  desert  us. 

TULU  (taking  his  hand).  Please  stay, 
Jack. 


TULU.  229 

(DUCHESS  enters,  c.) 

JACK.  I  must  go,  Tulu.     Duty  calls  me. 

TULU.  Then  I  think  you  are  perfectly  hate 
ful.  But  I  don't  care  !  I've  got  something 
to  attend  to — something  important.  Don't 
you  wish  you  knew,  Master  Dick  ? 

DICK.  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  wash 
your  new  pi*ppy. 

TULU.  A  puppy  is  in  it.  ( Laughs. ) 
You'll  know  in  about  ten  minutes.  (Runs 

Off,  L.) 

DUCHESS  (advancing).  Did  I  hear  you  say 
you  were  going  to  leave  us,  Mr.  Ryder  ? 

JACK.  I  regret  to  say  I  must,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  Must  ? 

DICK.  There's  thunder  in  the  air.  (Cross 
es  to  R.) 

JACK.  Yes  —  business  in  London,  some 
work  overdue  —  in  short,  I  must  take  the 
11.10  mail  up. 

DUCHESS.  But  your  departure  breaks  up 
the  party  to  the  masquerade.  I  do  not  un 
derstand  why  you  must  do  that.  The  mail 
is  not  here,  no  telegrams  have  arrived.  It 
must  be  a  mere  caprice. 


230  TULU. 

JACK.  Call  it  so  if  you  please,  Duchess, 
but  I  cannot  remain. 

DUCHESS.  Very  good.  (Turns  her  back.) 
Miss  Seersucker,  Wiggins  is  ready  for  you. 
I  will  get  the  necklace,  and  we  will  try  the 
effect. 

PET.  Thanks,  Duchess  ;  I  am  quite  ready. 

BLAZ.  What  is  the  costume,  mother  ? 

DUCHESS  (going  to  safe).  Has  not  Miss 
Seersucker  told  you?  She  is  to  be  the  Ra 
nee,  and  wear  the  necklace. 

BLAZ.  Wear  the  Ranee's  necklace  !  Jove  ! 
— er — what  a  jolly  idea !  ( Comes  down  r. 
Aside.)  It  has  come.  It  is  now  a  toss-up  be 
tween  Ryder  and  me.  One  of  us  goes  to  the 
wall,  and,  by  Jove !  it  shall  not  be  me.  (To 
PET.)  You  could  not  have  made  a  more  be 
coming  or,  to  me,  a  more  flattering  choice. 

PET.  Flattering !  WThy,  I  thought,  on  the 
contrary — ah,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Lord  Bla- 
zonberrie. 

JACK  (aside).  It  is  evidently  all  settled.  I 
must  take  myself  off.  Duchess,  I  have  the 
honor  to  thank  you  for  your  kind  hospitality, 
and  to  wish  you  good-bye. 

DUCHESS.   Pardon   me  for  detaining  you, 


TULU.  231 

but  I  have  forgotten  the  combination.  Usu 
ally  I  write  the  word  in  my  note-book.  This 
time  I  trusted  to  your  memory. 

JACK.  Permit  me  to  assist  you.  (  Unlocks 
safe,  hands  DUCHESS  jewel-box.  She  takes  out 
tray,  gives  box  back.] 

DUCHESS.  One  moment  more.  Will  you 
hold  this  tray  while  I —  Great  heavens  !  I 
—oh  !  great  heavens  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  (All 
rush  to  her.) 

PET.  Oh,  what  is  the  matter  ? 

DUCHESS.  \Ve  are  robbed  !  Blazonberrie, 
the  Ranee's  necklace  is  gone  ! 

JACK.  The  Ranee's  necklace  ? 

PET.  The  Ranee's  necklace  ? 

JACK.  Why,  I  saw  you  put  it  there  my 
self. 

DICK  (examining  tray).  It  is  gone,  no  deny 
ing  it, 

BLAZ.  Impossible  !  Diamonds  do  not  ex 
hale.  There  must  be  some  mistake,  some 
stupidity.  Who  knew  the  combination  ? 

DUCHESS.  Why,  only  Mr.  Ryder  and  I. 

JACK.  Yes,  only  the  Duchess  and  myself. 

BLAZ.  (starts).  Only!     Ah! 

DICK.  What  ails  vpu  ? 


232  TULU. 

BLAZ.  Nothing. 

JACK.  And  I  told  no  one. 

DUCHESS.  Nor  I. 

BLAZ.  (starts  again).  Why,  that  looks — 
Oh,  nonsense ! 

DUCHESS.  Looks?  Looks  what?  Why  do 
you  not  finish  your  sentence  ?  (Pause.)  I  in 
sist. 

BLAZ.  (affecting  to  lower  his  voice).  Do 
you  not  see  ?  It  is  impossible,  incredible  !  I 
am  host  irr  my  own  house,  not  a  detective. 

DUCHESS.  Not  a  detective,  you  mean  ? 

BLAZ.  (glancing  at  Ryder).  That  it  is  best 
to  say  no  more.  The  house  of  Toedmag  can 
better  afford  to  pocket  its  loss  than  to — 

DICK.  Oh !  By  Jove  !  Blazonberrie,  you 
don't  mean — 

JACK  (stepping  forward).  Perhaps  Lord 
Blazonberrie  will  kindly  explain  what  he  does 
mean. 

BLAZ.  (haughtily).  I  have  said  nothing, 
sir ! 

PET.  But  you  look  volumes. 

DUCHESS.  Look  !  Well  he  may.  I  see  it  all ! 
No  one  but  Mr.  Ryder  and  myself  knew  the 
combination.  He  thought  I  should  not  wear 


TULU.  233 

the  necklace.  He  asks  me  most  particularly 
about  it.  He  arranges  to  be  called  away  by 
business  just  remembered ;  and  supposed  the 
loss  will  not  be  discovered  until  he  has  made 
his  escape.  Mr.  Ryder,  give  me  my  necklace  ! 
Blazonberrie,  secure  the  doors  and  summon 
the  police. 

PET.  Duchess,  you  dare  to  say you 

mean  ? 

BLAZ.  My  dear  Miss  Seersucker,  you  will,  I 
am  sure,  pardon  the  Duchess  who  is  in  a  fear 
fully  excited  condition. 

TULU  (outside).  Mr.  Dick  !     Mr.  Dick  ! 

DICK.  Oh  !  I  say,  Miss  Seersucker,  shall  I 
head  off  poor  little  Tulu  ?  Send  her  off  to 
Saunders  ? 

PET.  Yes,  do.     She  is  so  excitable. 

(Exit  DICK,  c.) 

JACK.  Since  matters  have  come  to  this 
pass  I  demand  an  investigation. 

PET.  (clasping  her  hands  on  his  arm).  Yes  ! 
We  demand  an  investigation. 

BLAZ.  (aside).  Quite  touching;  but  I  will 
make  her  change  her  note.  (Aloud.)  Inves 
tigation,  Mr.  Ryder,  is  too  formidable  a  word. 


234  TULU. 

But  if  you  will  permit  me  to  forget  that  I  am 
your  host,  and  ask — 

DUCHESS.  Permit  you !  A  thief  is  obliged 
to  answer  what  questions  you  choose. 

PET.  Jack,  don't  you  speak  a  word ! 

BLAZ.  It  is  in  his  own  interest,  Miss  Seer 
sucker. 

JACK.  Will  you  proceed  with  your  ques 
tions,  Lord  Blazonberrie  ? 

(DiCK  enters,  c.) 

BLAZ.  The  situation  is  novel.  I  hardly 
know  how  to  begin. 

DUCHESS.  Demand  the  keys  of  his  trunk, 
if  you  will  begin  at  the  beginning. 

PET.  Abominable!  (Goes  to  R.  F.  with 
JACK;  sits  by  desk,  JACK  standing  by  her. 
DUCHESS  sits,\.  F.  ;  DICK  stands  by  fire.) 

BLAZ.  (stands,  c.).  There  is  certainly  a  mys 
tery,  but  it  may  be  easily  shown  that  it  does 
not  involve  Mr.  Ryder..  (To  JACK.)  I  think 
you  have  at  no  time  been  alone  in  this  room, 
without  witnesses,  since  the  diamonds  were 
placed  in  the  safe  ? 

JACK  (considering).  I  cannot  say  that, 
Lord  Blazonberrie. 


TULU.  235 

BLAZ.  Ah !  May  I  ask  at  what  hour  you 
were  alone  here  ?  You  left  Dick  and  myself 
in  the  dining-room  half  after  nine,  or  there 
about. 

JACK.  When  I  left  you  I  came  here  and 
found  Miss  Seersucker.  Chetwyn  joined  us, 
and  I  went  for  a  stroll  in  the  park. 

BLAZ.  And  that  lasted — 

DUCHESS.  Any  time  he  chooses  to  say. 
Why  do  you  allow  this  adventurer  to  fabri 
cate  his  story  at  his  leisure  ? 

BLAZ.  This  is  hardly  a  scene  for  ladies. 
You  and  Miss  Seersucker  had  best  retire. 

DUCHESS.  I  remain  here. 

PET.  And  I. 

JACK.  My  stroll  lasted  twenty  minutes  or 
so.  I  returned,  and  found  you  with  Miss 
Seersucker — 

PET.  Ah,  I  see  ! 

JACK.  — went  out  without  disturbing  you, 
came  back  about  quarter-past  ten — 

DUCHESS  (rising).  It  would  be  in  order 
now,  Mr.  Ryder,  to  explain  what  was  the 
magnet  that  brought  you  here  again  and 
again. 

JACK   (taking  no  notice.     She  sits  again). 


236  TULU. 

Chetwyn  joined  me,  turned  out  the  light, 
asked  me  to  wait,  went  off.  Suspecting  a 
practical  joke,  I  went  to  my  room,  packed 
my  trunk,  smoked  a  cigar,  and  retired  about 
twelve  o'clock. 

BLAZ.  Then  you  were  alone  here  in  the 
dark  how  long  ? 

JACK.  Possibly  three  minutes. 

DUCHESS.  That  is  when  he  took  the  dia 
monds  !  This  accounts  for  his  haste  to  leave 
us. 

PET.  A  crime  is  not  needed  to  explain 
that.  I  have  felt  the  same  desire  myself. 
He  might  have  been  bored. 

DUCEIESS.  It  is  a  clear  case.  There  is  no 
other  explanation. 

BLAZ.  Oh,  good  gad !  ( Walks  up  and 
down.) 

PET.  (composedly).  Pardon,  Duchess,  but 
Englishwomen  have  been  known  to  steal  their, 
own  jewels,  you  know,  when  they  or  their 
sons  have  debts  that  cannot  be  acknowledged. 

DUCHESS.  You  defend  your  accomplice 
with  spirit,  Miss  Seersucker.  (Rises.) 

PET.  (springing  up).  My  accomplice  ! 

JACK  (stepping  forward).  Accomplice  ! 


TULU.  237 

BLAZ.  (coming  between).  I  will  not — 

DUCHESS  (interrupting).  Let  him  explain 
why,  having  received  neither  letter  nor  tele 
gram,  he  breaks  up  the  dance  for  which  he 
has  ordered  his  costume,  and  is  suddenly 
called  away  by  business,  of  which  he  must  have 
known  when  he  accepted  my  invitation.  (Sits.) 

PET.  Now,  Jack.     (Sits.) 

JACK.  I  have  nothing  more  to  offer. 

BLAZ.  But  surely,  in  consideration  of  the 
extraordinary  situation,  something  more  defi 
nite — if  there  were  something. 

JACK.  There  was,  but  it  has  no  bearing  on 
the  case. 

BLAZ.  Still,  it  would  serve  you  better  to 
give  it. 

PET.  (aside).  That  was  a  stab.  He  wishes 
to  convict. 

JACK  (steadily).    I  have  no  more  to  offer. 

DUCHESS.  I  insist  that  you  send  for  the 
police,  Blazonberrie. 

BLAZ.  Have  you  any  theory,  Mr.  Ryder,  as 
to  who  besides  yourself  could  have  learned 
the  combination? 

DICK.  I  say,  Blazonberrie,  don't  your  ques 
tions  rather  point  one  way  ? 


238  TULU. 

BLAZ.  The  answers  do,  perhaps,  Dick. 

DUCHESS.  Precisely  !     The  answers  do. 

PET.   (indignantly] .    Oh,  oh  ! 

JACK  (contemptuously] .  Theory !  There 
are  a  dozen.  Some  one  may  have  listened 
behind  the  portieres :  some  chance  passer 
may  have  heard  :  the  Duchess  may  have  told 
some  one — 

DUCHESS.  Who  —  I?  When  I  could  not 
remember  the  word  ? 

PET.  You  may  have  told,  Duchess,  and 
forgotten  that  and  the  word  all  in  the  one 
motion. 

DUCHESS.  Absurd  ! 

PET.  It  was  a  singular  lapse  of  memory. 
Looks  like  a  "put-up  job,"  as  they  say  in 
the  States. 

BLAZ.  (hastily).  .Did  you  see  no  one  at  all, 
meet  no  one,  when  you  left  it  for  the  last 
time? 

JACK.  Why,  yes,  a  servant  —  Robinson,  I 
fancy — ran  into  me  in  the  door. 

BLAZ.  This  was  quarter-past  ten,  I  think 
you  said.  (Rings  bell.} 

JACK.  About  that.     (  Whispers  to  PET.) 


TULU.  239 

(ROBINSON  enters,  c.) 

ROB.  Did  you  ring,  ray  lord  ? 

BLAZ.  (sitting  on  tete-a-tete).  Yes ;  we 
have  a  joke,  a  bet,  which  I  think  you  can 
help  us  to  decide.  Were  you  in  this  room 
last  night  ? 

ROB.  I  were,  my  lord.  I  brought  your 
lordship  a  letter,  hand  later  I  fetched  a  mes 
sage  to  Miss  Seersucker  from  the  Duchess. 
Hit  was  hall  dark,  hand  I  lighted  hup. 

BLAZ.  Was  any  one  here  ? 

ROB.  I  run  hinto  some  one  bin  the  door — 
Mr.  Ryder,  I  think — cos  'e  says,  'urried  like, 
"  No  matter,"  wich  your  lordship  hand  Mr. 
Dick  most  generally  says —  (Hesitates.) 

BLAZ.  Well? 

ROB.  Beg  parding  !  But  wen  a  body  gets 
bin  your  ways  you  says — ahem  ! — Damn  you ! 

BLAZ.  What  time  was  this  ? 

ROB.  Quarter  to  heleven.  I  wound  the 
'all  clock  d'rectly  hafterwards. 

BLAZ.  Quarter  to  eleven.  Um  !  Was  the 
room  quite  as  usual  this  morning  ? 

ROB.  The  camery  was  pulled  hout,  hand 
there  was  burnt  matches  by  the  desk,  so 


240  TULU. 

the  'ouse-maid  she  was  sure  hit  was  burg 
lars—  (All  exclaim  "  Oh  /") 

BLAZ.  Gk>  on. 

ROB.  But  Saunders  says  Miss  Tula  give 
'im  a  plate  to  finish  hup  this  morning,  so  we 
suppoged  heverything  was  hall  right,  hand 
Mr.  Dick  'ad  been  taking  a  picture.  I  'ope 
nothing  his  wrong. 

BLAZ.  Nothing.     You  may  go. 

ROB.  (taking  amulet  from  his  pocket).  We 
found  this  little  match-box  like  by  the 
desk.  His  hit  yours,  my  lord  ?  (Hands  him 
amulet.) 

JACK.  My  amulet ! 

DUCHESS.  By  the  desk  !     Blazonberrie — 

BLAZ.  Careful!  Leave  the  room,  Robin 
son. 

ROB.  Yes,  my  lord.  (Aside.)  Whathever  is 
going  hon?  (Exit,  c.) 

DUCHESS.  Proof  positive  !  And  matches 
burned  by  the  safe.  Blazonberrie,  send  for 
the  police. 

JACK.  I  second  the  motion. 

PET.  Oh,  Jack! 

BLAZ.  I  cannot  allow  it. 

JACK.  But  I  insist.     This  examination  is  a 


TULU.  241 

mere  farce,  and  the  circumstantial  evidence 
proves  nothing  I  wish  to  deny.  I  was  alone 
here  long  enough  to  take  the  diamonds ;  I 
did  lose  my  amulet ;  I  did  know  the  com 
bination.  On  the  other  hand,  it  has  yet  to 
be  proved  that  there  is  not  in  this  house 
one  who  also  knew  the  combination,  and  had 
a  stronger  motive  than  I  for  taking  the 
jewels. 

DUCHESS.  Twenty  thousand  pounds  is 
motive  enough. 

PET.  Americans  rate  their  good  name 
higher,  Duchess. 

DUCHESS.  How  melodramatic ! 

BLAZ.  I  think  I  see  a  way  out  of  the  diffi 
culty,  if  you  will  all  leave  me  alone  with  Mr. 
Ryder. 

DUCHESS.  I  shall  write  the  Duke  a  letter 
giving  all  the  facts,  send  it  by  messenger, 
and  see  if  this  delicate  consideration  for  a 
thief  meets  his  views.  (Exit,  c.) 

DICK  (advancing).  Miss  Seersucker,  may  I 
take  you  to  the  drawing-room  ? 

PET.  Yes.  Courage,  Jack!  (Exit  with 
DICK,  L.) 

BLAZ.  (after  a  moment's  pause).   Mr.  Ryder, 
16 


242  TULU. 

though  I  deprecate  the  Duchess's  warmth,  I 
I 

JACK.  Share  her  sentiments.  Well,  the 
evidence  is  strong.  (Lights  cigarette,  sits  by 
desk,  facing  BLAZ.,  who  walks  about,  stopping 
from  time  to  time.) 

BLAZ.  I —  By  Jove !  put  yourself  in  iny 
place. 

JACK.  Were  I  you  I  should  have  me  ar 
rested. 

BLAZ.  I  never  was  in  such  a  dilemma. 

JACK.  Cut  the  Gordian  knot ;  have  me  ar 
rested. 

BLAZ.  That  is  impossible,  on  Miss  Seer 
sucker's  account.  Standing  in  the  position  I 
do  to  her — as — as  her  future  husband — 

JACK  (quietly).  As  her  future  husband  ? 

BLAZ.  Yes.  I  am  placed  in  a  most  awk 
ward  position.  I  cannot  prosecute  so  near  a 
relative  of  my  fiancee;  neither  can  I  refuse 
to  do  so — my  father  could  not — because  these 
jewels  are  entailed,  and  belong  not  to  us,  but 
to  the  estate. 

JACK.  I  see.  What  next  ?  Shall  I  remove 
the  obstacle  by  hanging  myself  ? 

BLAZ.  I  do  not  understand  your  tone,  Mr. 


TULU.  243 

Ryder.  I  am  very  far  from  jesting.  What 
I  would  say  is  this :  either  give  me  the  neck 
lace,  or  else  slip  quietly  away  now,  while  the 
others  are  not  here.  I  promise  you,  on  my 
honor,  you  shall  not  be  followed. 

JACK.  Thanks.  But  how  can  you  answer 
for  that  ?  The  jewels  are  entailed ;  very 
good ;  then  it  is  the  duty  of  the  Duke,  your 
father,  to  regain  possession  of  them. 

BLAZ.  I  tell  you,  you  shall  be  safe  —  for 
Miss  Seersucker's  sake.  We  go  deeper  into 
these  things  than  Americans  do,  and  the 
Toedmags  would  not  care  to  record  an  alli 
ance  with  a  felon's  relative. 

JACK.  And  we  Americans  go  deeper  yet. 
We  never  take  refuge  behind  a  petticoat. 
(Rises.) 

BLAZ.  Then  you  refuse  either  to  give  up 
the  jewels  or  go  ? 

JACK.  The  jewels  I  have  not  got  to  give, 
and  I  most  decidedly  refuse  to  run  away  and 
bear  the  burden  of  another's  crime. 

BLAZ.  Whom  do  you  suspect  ? 

JACK.  I  will  tell  my  counsel  that. 

BLAZ.  Suppose  I  decline  and  my  father 
declines  to  prosecute  ? 


244  TULU. 

JACK.  You  cannot.     Remember  the  entail. 

BLAZ.  It  may  be  evaded  in  some  way. 

JACK.  Then  I  shall  give  myself  up  to  the 
nearest  magistrate. 

BLAZ.  Think  of  Miss  Seersucker. 

JACK.  I  do,  but  fancy  she  sees  little  to 
choose  between  a  convict  and  an  unconvicted 
thief,  so  prefer  proving  I  am  neither. 

BLAZ.  I  must  see  her.  This  must  not  be. 
(Goes  to  door,  L.)  Miss  Seersucker,  may  I 
speak  with  you  a  moment  ? 

PET.  (entering,  L.).  Speak  with  me  ?  Cer 
tainly.  (Goes  to  JACK;  holds  out  her  hand.) 
Jack! 

JACK.  Do  not  touch  me  !  (Crosses  to  door, 
L.)  Lord  Blazonberrie,  you  will  find  me  in 
here.  (Exit,  L.) 

PET.  AVhat  is  the  matter  1 

BLAZ.  Your  cousin  is  overwrought,  Miss 
Seersucker,  lie  is  playing  a  desperate  game. 

PET.  Desperate  game  !  Then  you  believe 
him  guilty  ? 

BLAZ.  I  have  fought  against  the  idea,  but 
he  tacitly  admits  it  himself.  For  your  sake, 
I  would  never  prosecute  him,  but  I  cannot 
hold  back  my  family  unless — unless — 


TULU.  245 

PET.  Well,  my  lord  ? 

BLAZ.  Unless  you  promise  to  marry  me. 
Then,  as  cousin  of  my  fiancee,  he  is  safe. 

PET.  I  see.     (  Walks  about.) 

BLAZ.  Think  of  the  position  I  am  placed 
in.  Forced  to  prosecute  one  who  is  not  only 
near  to  you,  but  my  friend  and  guest.  Better 
lose  a  hundred  thousand  pounds,  I  say. 

PET.  And  if  I  accept  the  condition,  what 
next? 

BLAZ.  (going  to  her).  Persuade  him  to 
leave  here  at  once.  He  shall  not  be  followed. 
I  swear  it. 

PET.  You  want  Jack  to  run  away  ? 

BLAZ.  It  is  the  only  course.    Urge  it  on  him. 

PET.  Have  you  suggested  it  to  him  ? 

BLAZ.  Yes,  but  he  is  determined  to  brazen 
it  out.  To  you  he  must  listen. 

PET.  Perhaps.  (  Walks  up  and  down  ;  stops 
in  front  of  BLAZ.)  Lord  Blazonberrie,  I  ac 
cept  your  terms — 

BLAZ.  (taking  her  hand).  My  dear  girl  ! 

PET.  (releasing  herself).  Wait!  I  accept, 
conditionally.  (  With  emphasis.)  On  the  day 
you  convince  me  of  Jack's  guilt,  I  promise 
to  marry  you. 


246  TULU. 

BLAZ.  Then  it  is  settled.  And  you  will 
urge  him  to  go  at  once  ? 

PET.  Send  him  to  me,  if  you  please. 

BLAZ.  (kissing  her  hand).  You  lift  a  load 
from  ray  mind.  (Exit,  L.) 

PET.  (rubbing  her  hand).  Faugh  !  His 
kiss  burns.  What  hypocrites  we  women  are  ! 
However,  it  is  but  fair.  I  do  not  quite  be 
lieve  in  his  disinterested  care  for  me,  nor  do 
I  like  it.  I  am  to  get  Jack  out  of  his  way, 
am  I  ?  Well,  we  will  see. 

(JACK  enters,  L.) 

PET.  Jack,  I  have  a  commission  to  execute. 
Will  you  please  run  away  ?  Lord  Blazonber- 
rie  most  particularly  requests  it. 

JACK.  I  dare  say.  Petrolia,  before  we  go 
any  further,  I  must  know  if  it  is  true  you 
are  to  marry  Blazonberrie. 

PET.  I  am — 

JACK.  Ah  ! 

PET.  Wait !  only  on  the  day  he  convinces 
me  of  your  guilt,  and  that  will  be — never  ! 

JACK.  My  darling  Petrolia !  (Embraces 
her.) 

PET.  How  could  you  doubt  me,  Jack  ? 


TULU.  247 

JACK.     I    was    distracted    with    jealousy. 
Then  came  the  accusation. 

PET.  Ah  !  the  accusation  !  Jack,  we  must 
not  waste  time.  You  are  innocent ;  then  some 
one  is  guilty — some  one  in  this  house. 
JACK.  Whom  do  you  suspect  ? 
PET.  The  Duchess,  or  Blazonberrie,  or  both. 
(  Checks  off  points  on  her  fingers.)  First  point, 
the  Duchess  insists  on  telling  you  the  combi 
nation  ;  second,  she  forgets  it ;  third,  Blazon, 
berrie  brings  out  all  the  evidence  against 
you ;  fourth,  refuses  you  the  benefit  of  a 
trial ;  and  fifth,  uses  every  means  in  his 
power  to  induce  you  to  run  away. 

JACK.  Commend  me  to  a  woman's  imag 
ination  ! 

PET.  And  me  to  a  man's  stupidity.  But 
we  must  act,  not  talk.  We  will  go  to  Bla 
zonberrie,  and  again  demand. a  trial. 

JACK.  And  if  he  refuses  I  shall  give  my 
self  up  to  Sir  Henry  Thornton,  the  nearest 
magistrate. 

PET.  I  will  drive  over  with  yon. 
JACK.  No,  no. 

PET.  Yes,  yes.  Come,  Jack,  we  must  see 
Blazonberrie  at  once.  (They  go  off,  L.) 


248  TULU. 

(TuLu  enters,  c.,  carrying  proof  of  photo.} 

TULU.  There's  something  queer  going  on, 
and  I  can't  find  out  what  it  is.  I  thought  it 
was  funny  Mr.  Dick  took  me  to  his  den  to 
help  Saunders.  He  wanted  to  get  me  out  of 
the  way.  I  made  Saunders  finish  up  my 
picture,  and  it  is  awfully  funny,  only  no  one 
will  look  at  it.  (Sits  on  tete-a-tete ;  looks  at 
picture.)  Oh,  dear !  I  just  wish  some  one 
would  come ;  I'm  dying  to  show  it.  Hateful 
things  !  always  having  secrets. 

(Enter  BLAZONBERRIE,  c.) 

TULU  (running  to  him).  Lord  Blazonberrie, 
I've  got  an  awfully  good  joke  on  you.  See ! 
(Holds  out  picture.) 

BLAZ.  (impatiently).  Don't  be  a  nuisance  ! 
Where  is  your  sister  ? 

TULU.  Find  her  yourself.     (BLAZ.  goes  off. 
L.)      "  Don't  be   a  nuisance  !"      Indeed !     I 
am  a  nuisance,  am  I  ?     Well,  they  can  keep 
their  old  secret.     I've  one  of  my  own. 
(Enter  DICK.) 

TULU.  Oh,  Mr.  Dick !  (Puts  picture  be 
hind  her.) 


TULU.  249 

DICK.  Holloa,  Tula  !  (Throws  himself  on 
sofa.) 

TULU.  Holloa  yourself  !     I'm  not  a  baby. 

DICK.  Pardon  my  disrespect,  Miss.  I'm 
all  out  of  sorts.  Blue  as  indigo. 

TULU.  Does  your  poor  head  ache  ? 

DICK.  Like  thunder. 

TULU.  Then  I'll  cologne  it.  (Puts  picture 
on  table,  takes  scent  bottle  from  her  pocket,  goes 
to  Dick.}  Put  your  head  back.  (Rubs  his 
head.) 

DICK.  You're  a  good  sort,  Tulu. 

TULU.  Does  it  make  you  worse  to  talk  ? 

DICK.  No  ;  but  I  can't  be  larky. 

TULU.  Of  course  not  when  you're  blue. 
I'm  never  blue  myself,  but  I'm  blaze. 

DICK.  What's  that  last  word  ? 

TULU.  Blaze.  It's  French  for  sort  of  tired 
of  things.  When  I  go  to  matinees  I  hardly 
cry  a  bit.  I've  seen  it  all  before,  you  know. 
Don't  you  know  French  ? 

DICK.  Not  as  intimately  as  you  do. 

TULU.  I  guess  you're  chaffing.  I  say,  Mr. 
Dick,  you  didn't  take  a  picture  last  night, 
did  you  ? 

DICK.  No. 


250  TULU. 

TULU.  But  you  fixed  the  camera  for  one, 
didn't  you  ? 

DICK.  Yes,  but  my  subject  got  away. 

TULU.  Mine  didn't — at  least,  I  caught  an 
other,  and  took  a  picture  that's  a  regular  Jim 
dandy. 

DICK.  Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  meddle 
with  my  camera?  (Sits  up.) 

TULU.  Put  your  head  back.  (He  does  so.) 
I  didn't  meddle  at  all.  The  machine  was  in 
order,  so  I  just  meant  to  snap  you  off  for  fun. 

DICK.  Well,  you  didn't  get  me. 

TULU.  I  got  something  better  yet.  The 
queerest  thing  you  ever  did  see.  I'll  show  it 
to  you.  Just  a  little  more  cologne.  (Tilts 
bottle  over  his  head.) 

DICK  (jumping  up).  Oh,  my  eye  !     Oh  ! 

TULU.  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry !  I'll  fetch  some 
water.  (Runs  to  door,  c.) 

DICK.  You'll  fetch  nothing !  (Jostles  her 
in  door,  runs  off,  holding  handkerchief  to  his 
eye.) 

TULU.  What  an  awful  day  I'm  having ! 
(Feels  her  elbow.)  He  nearly  broke  my  arm, 
and  didn't  even  see  the  picture.  (Catches  up 
picture.)  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  I  was  home !  I 


TULU.  251 

do.     (Flings  herself  on  sofa.)     Everybody  is 
just  perfectly  hateful !     (Sobs.) 

(Enter  PETROLIA,  L.) 

PET.  Tulu  in  tears  !  Poor  little  thing,  she 
has  heard  the  news.  (Goes  to  her.]  What 
is  the  matter,  Tulu  ?  (Kneels  by  sofa.) 

TULU.  Mr.  Dick  wouldn't  look  at  my  pict 
ure.  I  wish  I  was  dead ! 

PET.  Is  that  all?  Tulu,  dear,  I  want  you 
to  go  up-stairs  at  once,  and  help  Parker  pack 
our  boxes.  We  leave  here  to-day. 

TULU  (sitting  up).  Have  you  had  a  row 
with  the  Duchess,  Smithy  ? 

PET.  (sitting  by  her*).  Yes. 

TULU.  Then  I'll  stay  and  see  the  thing 
out. 

PET.  Please  go,  like  a  dear  girl. 

TULU.  I'm  not  a  dear  girl.  I'm  a  nui 
sance.  I  want  to  be  a  nuisance.  No  one 
will  oblige  me  by  looking  at  my  picture,  and 
I  won't  oblige  any  one. 

PET.  I'll  look  at  the  picture  if  you'll  only 
go  away.  (Holds  out  her  hand.) 

TULU.  It's  a  joke — don't  grab  it !  There  ! 
(Gives  her  photo.)  Isn't  that  capital  ?  What 


252  TULU. 

do  you  s'pose  he  is  doing  ?  Saunders  and  I 
nearly  had  a  fit  over  it. 

PET.  It's  Lord  Blazonberrie  ! 

TULU.  Yes,  and  he's  holding  a  necklace — 
see! 

PET.  (springing  up.  Goes  to  light).  The 
Ranee's  necklace !  Tula,  how  did  you  get 
this  picture  ? 

TULU.  Last  night.  I  was  waiting  to  get 
Mr.  Dick,  you  know — 

PET.  Yes ;  go  on. 

TULU.  I  turned  out  the  light,  crawled  be 
hind  the  table  with  the  bulb  in  my  hand,  and 
went  to  sleep.  Well — 

PET.  Do  hurry,  Tulu. 

TULU.  Well,  I  don't  know  how  long  I  slept 
— not  long,  I  guess.  Anyway,  I  waked  up, 
and  heard  some  one  sneaking  to  the  door. 
Of  course  I  thought  it  was  Dick,  so  I  squeezed 
the  bulb,  and  the  flash  went  off. 

PET.  Yes  ;  and  then  ? 

TULU.  Then  I  pulled  out  the  plate,  wrapped 
it  up  in  the  cloth,  and  took  it  up  to  bed  with 
me.  And  this  morning  when  Saunders  de 
veloped  it  it  was  Blazonberrie,  not  Dick. 
Isn't  it  funnv  ? 


TULU.  253 

PET.  Funny?  It's  adorable  !  (Kisses  TULU.) 
Tulu,  you've  saved  us. 

TULU.  What  ever  has  got  into  you  ? 

(Enter  DUCHESS,  BLAZONBERRIE,  and  DICK,  c.) 

DUCHESS.  Where  is  Mr.  Ryder  ?  Did  no 
one  watch  him  ? 

PET.  I  did,  Duchess. 
BLAZ.  And  he  has  gone  ? 

(JACK  enters,  L.) 

JACK.  I  am  still  here,  Lord  Blazonberrie. 
Have  you  any  more  evidence,  Duchess  ? 

DUCHESS.  No.     Blazonberrie 

PET.  One  moment,  Duchess.  Lord  Bla 
zonberrie,  I  cry  off  from  our  bargain.  So 
far  from  being  convinced  of  my  cousin's 
guilt,  I  have  proof  positive  of  his  inno 
cence. 

DUCHESS.  Bargain?     What  bargain? 

JACK.  Petrolia  !     What  is— 

DUCHESS  (interrupting).  The  proofs  first, 
if  you  please. 

PET.  You  may  not  like  them,  Duchess. 
Lord  Blazonberrie,  what  do  you  say  ? 


254  TULU. 

BLAZ.  What  Lave  I  to  do  with  the  mat 
ter? 

PET.  (holding  out  photo  to  DICK).  Mr. 
Chetwyn,  will  you  look  at  this  picture,  and 
tell  us  who  it  is  ? 

DICK  (taking  it).  Blazonberrie  !  Splendid  ! 
Perfect !  Who  took  this  ? 

TULU  (proudly).  I  did.  Thought  I  was 
going  to  spoil  your  camera  if  I  touched  it ! 

PET.  (earnestly).  Mr.  Chetwyn,  what  does 
Lord  Blazonberrie  hold  in  his  hand  ? 

DICK  (looking).  The  Ranee's  necklace ;  no 
one  could  mistake  that  pendant.  (Starts.) 
By  Jove  !  when  was  this  taken  ? 

TULU.  Last  night,  about  eleven  o'clock. 

ALL.  Eleven  o'clock ! 

TULU.  Yep  ;  eleven  o'clock.     (Laughs.) 

BLAZ.  (aside).  The  flash  !  Oh,  double-dyed 
fool! 

JACK.  Tulu  !  You  took  Lord  Blazonberrie 
with  the  Ranee's  necklace  in  his  hand  at 
eleven  o'clock  last  night  ? 

TULU.  Yep,  and  never  knew  it  —  there's 
where  the  joke  comes  in.  I  was  laying  for 
Mr.  Dick  in  the  dark,  and  was  sleepy — it  was 
awfully  hot;  I  was  behind  the  table  there — 


TULU.  255 

so  I  dropped  off  in  a  little  nap.  Well,  I  had 
the  bulb  all  ready,  waked  up,  heard  some  one 
in  the  room,  thought  it  was  Mr.  Dick,  squeezed 
the  bulb,  and  never  knew  till  this  morning 
what  I  had  got.  Isn't  it  grand  ?  Mr.  Dick 
never  got  anything  half  as  good.  Isn't  it  a 
joke  on  him  ? 

DICK.  It's  a  serious  sort  of  joke  on  us  all, 
Tula. 

DUCHESS  (seizing  picture).  It  is  Blazonber- 
rie !  But  it  proves  nothing.  It  is  an  Amer 
ican  trick. 

TULU.  Trick  !     I  tell  you— 

PET.  (interrupting).  Tulu,  this  is  serious. 
Last  night  the  Ranee's  necklace  was  stolen — 

TULU.  Stolen  !  Stolen  here  !  Was  I  alone 
in  the  room  with  a  real  burglar  ?  (Looks 
at  BLAZ.)  Oh!  Oh!  Lord  Blazonberrie 
had  the  necklace.  Petrolia,  what  have  I 
done? 

JACK.  Saved  my  reputation.  They  ac 
cused  me — 

PET.  Yes,  Tulu,  they  called  Jack  a  thief  ! 

DUCHESS.  And  do  still.  It  is  a  con 
spiracy. 

DICK.  Aunt  Hildegarde,  be  reasonable. 


256  TULU. 

JACK.  Very  good.  I  return  to  my  first 
proposition  :  order  my  arrest. 

BLAZ.  Stuff  !  Nonsense  !  I  have  been  a 
fool,  but  know  when  the  game  is  up.  I  over 
heard  the  combination,  and  stole  my  own 
diamonds.  There  you  have  it.  We  will  say 
nothing,  and  you  will  say  nothing,  for  we 
might  still  make  it  unpleasant  for  you,  in 
spite  of  Tulu  and  her  camera.  (Goes  over  to 
fire.) 

DUCHESS.  Wretched  boy  !  he  confesses  his 
disgrace  !  (Sits,  L.  F.) 

DICK  (going  to  her}.  Aunt  Ilildegarde,  we 
owe  Mr.  Ryder  a  most  humble  apology. 

DUCHESS.  Not  at  all.  It  was  but  natural 
to  think  twenty  thousand  pounds  a  great 
temptation  to  a  man  of  his  stamp.  (Fans 
herself  violently.} 

TULU.  You're  off  about  his  "  stamp,"  Duch 
ess.  Blazonberrie  is  a  gentleman  because  he 
couldn't  help  being  born  a  Toedmag ;  but 
Jack  is  a  gentleman  because  he  likes  to  be. 
So  there ! 

PET.  My  dear  Tulu — 

TULU.  You  can't  down  me,  Smithy.  It's 
the  solid  truth  I'm  giving  her. 


TULU.  257 

JACK    (kissing    her).     You    are    a    little 
trump. 

TULU.  But  I  take  a  big  trick,  don't  I  ? 

TABLEAU. 

BLAZONBERRIE.  PETROLIA.  DICK. 

TULU.  DUCHESS. 

JACK. 

ROB.   (entering,    c.).    The    carriage    waits, 
Miss  Seersucker. 

QUICK    CURTAIN. 

17 


BY  MARY  E.  WILKINS. 

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Mr.  Howells  has  in  this  work  enabled  the  general  public  to  obtain  a 
knowledge  of  modern  Italian  poetry  which  they  could  have  acquired 
in  no  other  way.— .V.  Y.  Tribune. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

P?~  The  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part 
of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


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